


hound

by mandadoration



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with no happy ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Decapitation, Descriptions of gore, F/M, Fluff, Mando doesn't know how to communicate, Minor Character Death, Mourning, No use of y/n, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character(s), Past Violence, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, pre-Season One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandadoration/pseuds/mandadoration
Summary: You were working with the Mandalorian on a particular bounty, and when you got it and turned him in, you thought that would be the end of that. But he surprises you, and you go around making a name for yourself, collecting bounties and developing some sort of... business partnership with him. It wasn't like making a name for yourself was even that hard. Especially since you were a Mandalorian as well.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 132
Kudos: 396





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please check tags. They've been updated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve been working with the Mandalorian on a particularly lucrative bounty for some time now, and there are those that find it frustrating that neither of you have a particular name to distinguish one another from. One is finally given to you.

“Mandalorian!” a voice calls out, oddly cheerful considering who he was addressing. As you and Mando turn to look at who it was, you see a wealthy looking Bimm walk towards you. His walk stutters as both of you respond to his call. A common occurrence, as people usually didn’t know how to address you since Mandalores rarely gave their name, ever since you have been assigned on this bounty, everyone got frustrated with having to say, “No, not you, the other Mandalorian.” It didn’t help that you didn’t do anything to try and distinguish yourself. Not talking didn’t help either. Over the years of working, you’ve grown tired of people judging you just because you were a female. You’ve stopped talking, instead opting to only answer _yes/no/I don’t know_ questions, and writing if it was needed. Only with regular customers have you opened up, but by the time they’ve grown used to you, so have their acknowledgement of your unwillingness to talk, including Mando. 

“Kevali,” Mando greets. You nod your head in acknowledgement. Obviously these two have met before, and if Kevali was still alive, it must’ve ended on good terms. As good as associating with Mando can be. “What do you want?” Kevali looked between both of you, assessing to see if you were safe. After a moment, he slides into the booth next to you. You begrudgingly scoot in to make room. 

“Who is this?” he asks instead, motioning to you. “Your, uh, _partner_?” he guesses, stressing the word. Mando tilts his head in annoyance. 

“Business partner,” Mando corrects. This isn’t the first time people have assumed that you were together. Just because you were both Mandalorians didn’t always mean you were in a relationship. It’s not like you went around asking those of the same species if they were together or related. You figured it was kind of insensitive. Too bad others didn’t share that sentiment. “What do you want?” he repeats, annoyance creeping into his tone. Kevali must’ve sensed this as well because he scoots a little further away from you and clears his throat. You roll your eyes and turn back to stare at Mando, who gives a microscopic shrug in response. 

“Mandalorian–” Kevali says, voice hushed, but you and Mando turn your head to look at him again. Kevali ignores you, and you clench your fist in annoyance. You get that Mando is a more notorious bounty hunter, and it’s not for unwarranted reason, but those who straight up ignored you in favor him makes you upset. You both swore the same creed, and you were paired with him to go after this high-stakes bounty for a reason. “– I have a job for you.”

“We’re busy,” Mando replies before he can go on. Kevali is taken aback, waiting for him to explain why this one required his full attention, but Mando doesn’t give. Okay, maybe he wasn’t on the best of terms with him after all. 

“But you always take on multiple bounties–” Kevali starts to complain.

“Not this time,” Mando shoots back bluntly. Kevali scowls. 

“What about your friend, then?” he asks, tilting his head towards you, but not taking his eyes off of Mando. You grit your teeth. You’re right there, and he’s using Mando as a messenger instead of talking to you directly. It’s not like you would respond anyway; he didn’t ask you directly if you would take the bounty. Those who knew you were wise enough to only ask yes or no questions. This did not pertain to him. 

“Busy,” Mando answers for you. His patience has run thin. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, we need to get going. C’mon.” Mando slides out of the booth and gets up, but Kevali has you trapped. Even if you scoot forwards, he doesn’t budge. He stares at you with narrowed eyes, and you lean closer in response. Although you see his eyebrow twitch he still doesn’t move. It’s a tense staredown, but you think it’s kind of funny his eyes keep darting around because he doesn’t know where your eyes are. He opens his mouth, and you think he’s about to crack and let you leave–

“Doesn’t your _dog_ talk?” he snaps. 

At that, you slam your hand against the table, the wood cracking under the force, and you grab his neck and force him out of the booth before he can blink twice. You spin around, keeping your grip tight, and slam him against table. Kevali lets out a squeak under your grip as he scrabbles against your hand, eyes bulging out of his head. Although there’s a small lull in the ambiance around you, you know everyone is avoiding looking over to you. If it was just Mando, they would probably try and sneak a peek, but two Mandalorians in the same place are a death wish. You think Kevali’s trying to gasp something out. 

“I think he’s trying to apologize,” Mando muses, amusement lacing his tone. He looks over your shoulder at Kevali’s pleading eyes, which are growing more and more bloodshot from your unrelenting grip. Instead, he turns around to leave you to it, and it’s hilarious how Kevali’s face drops. As he’s on the verge of passing out, Mando stops and looks over his shoulder at you, letting out a piercing whistle that does quiet the room, drawing everyone’s attention.

“C’mon, _Dog_ ,” he beckons, teasing. You tighten your grip for a split second before letting go, revelling in how Kevali gasps and coughs, slumping down. You turn to follow Mando out the door of the tavern. Mando doesn’t say anything else as you head back to the Razor Crest, but it’s a comfortable silence, especially now that you let your aggressions out of that bastard. It’s not until you’re strapped in and well into hyperspace that you dig into your pockets and take out a handful of credits, a vibroblade, and a couple rings that you definitely did not have before. You hold them out for Mando. He picks them up and looks at them, and then at you. “Where’d you get these?” he sighs, but he suspects he knows the answer already. You know he can’t see it, but you grin under your helmet, and you speak to him for the first time ever since your partnership. 

“Woof.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find your bounty on a barren, rocky moon, hiding up in the mountains. You hope that it’ll be an easy retrieval, but of course, nothing goes as planned. You reveal something to Mando in return for his aid.

The nickname _Dog_ sticks around, much to your chagrin. Still, it’s an easy way to distinguish between the both of you, and you know Mando thinks it’s funny how people are scared to refer to you as Dog and try their best to not have to address you directly as you ask around about your bounty.

You think so too. 

You don’t talk after your little run in with Kevali, and Mando doesn’t push it. But something has changed between you, but you attribute it to how you finally showed that it was actually flesh under your beskar armor and not a humorless droid. It’s not like he had to wait that much longer to know you were human, though. 

Because right now you’re bleeding through your clothes and dripping all over the floor of the _Razor Crest_. 

–

You had finally tracked the asset down to a little rocky moon with a thin atmosphere in the Outer Rim. Silently, as you always do, you and Mando get ready to confront him. Mando double checks how much fuel he has in his vambrace for the fire, restocks his bullets, and slings his rifle over his shoulder. You restock your own ammunition and tuck the stolen vibroblade in a holster on your left thigh, tuck your blaster by your hip, and grab your electrostaff. Mando brings out the puck and shows you the bounty: a Gran by the name of Graug. It’s three eyes stare at you blankly as the little holographic bust rotates. He deactivates it and puts it back, disappearing behind his cape, and he takes out a tracking fob. It’s beeping strongly. 

“Ready?” Mando asks. You give him a curt nod. “Of course you are.” You tilt your head to ask, _What is that supposed to mean?_ He just gives you a shrug in return. “C’mon, let’s get, Dog.” You roll your eyes under your helmet and knock your shoulder against his as you descend the ramp. Mando gives a short chuckle under his breath, but stops teasing you. You can’t help but feel just a twinge of disappointment. 

You push that aside. You were here to complete a bounty, not joke around. No matter how one-sided it was. Mando slowly rotates in a circle with the tracking fob. After a few moments, he pauses and starts walking. You follow dutifully behind him at his heels, keeping your gaze sharp for any signs of life. So far, it was just rocks. Literally. There’s no grass or water source, and it’s woefully barren of any signs of life. You want to ask if Mando is sure the asset is here of all places. It would be easy to know that someone was trying to run away if they were the only other living thing here. But the tracking fob’s beeping increases, so you keep your mouth shut. 

Slowly, but surely, as you keep walking, the earth inclines until after nearly half an hour of walking, you’re met with a natural, but impressive mountain with carvings and caves that deface it. You would’ve appreciated it, really, but it’s more annoying than anything.

Because it extends far into the horizon. In _both_ directions. Mando sighs and puts the fob away to gear up to scale the wall. He looks at you expectantly, but you sweep into a bow dramatically.

_After you._

You can _hear_ Mando roll his eyes from where you are. 

He shoots his grappling line to the top, tugs twice to make sure it’s secure, and starts his scale. When he’s several feet above you, you shoot your own grappling line next to him, and follow. 

It’s not an easy climb. It’s a steep rock face, and although there are many hand- and footholds, the thin air makes your head spin in combination with the effort. Mando calls to you. “You enjoying the view?” he grunts. You know he doesn’t expect a real answer- he’s just making sure you’re still behind him. You stomp against the rock to indicate that you’re still here. You consider prying a chunk of rock out to throw at him when he lets out a shout of surprise and starts to fall, his line being cut. 

You shoot out a hand and just barely manage to grab his foot, grunting as the breath is knocked out of you. The momentum of his fall slammed you against the mountain. You curse inwardly. You had just polished your armor, and now it’s scuffed. You peer upwards to try and see who do it, when you see a blurry figure and a glint of a knife in one of the many caves. Panicking, you swing back and forth, using Mando to try and speed up your momentum. You kick against the mountain to avoid the swipe of a blade. As you land back, you wince as you hear Mando hit the rocks. 

“What are you doing?!” Mando demands. But you’re too busy kicking off again to avoid the blade to properly answer. As you swing backwards, you spot a ledge just big enough for you to throw his body onto it. He shouts in surprise when he feels your grip release, and swears when he lands roughly. “Shit!” You continue to swing back and forth like a pendulum, forcing your way up as fast as you can. The bounty really can’t stab for anything, apparently, as you catch your fingers on the edge of the cave and haul yourself up. You grunt as the Gran stomps on your fingers. He shouts in a language you don’t know and raises his arm to stab you, but you grab his ankle like you did with Mando, but sharply pull to knock him flat on his back. You scramble up as fast as you can, detaching the grapple line. You can scavenge for your hook later if you want. Kicking the blade away, you put your boot on Graug and peer at him. One of his eyes are swollen shut and he looks severely malnourished. At least, you think he is. You haven’t seen enough of his species to know if he’s underweight. You dig in your pockets for your own bounty puck and show it to him, pulling out cuffs. You hope this one will know better and come willingly. 

Instead, he spits a glob of greenish brown spit at you and scowls, but doesn’t try to struggle. You hear Mando hoist himself up into the cave. Putting your puck away, you remove your boot to pick up the asset.

“Better to comply,” is all Mando says to him. As he gets on his feet, you think that maybe this will be easier than you thought. 

The bounty surprises you as he pulls out another blade from Maker knows where and jabs at the gap between your pauldron and breastplate before swiping at your leg. You snarl and backhand Graug, your knuckles snagging on his swollen eye and tearing his eyelid. He screams and stumbles back, and you wrench out the knife. You toss it aside, and Mando swoops in to force Graug’s hands behind his back and into the cuffs that you’ve dropped. He still struggles against Mando. “Don’t make me have to bring you in cold,” he says. You press a hand against your wound and hiss. Mando looks at you. He doesn’t say anything, but motions with his head that you should head down first. You walk over to the edge and peer down, only to gasp when Graug peels himself from Mando’s grip, running _backwards_ , brandishing _another_ knife, and tearing into your side and slamming into you to try and knock you off. He does, and you try and orient yourself in the midst of free-fall before you crack your head into the unforgiving earth below. 

You manage to snag a ledge, nearly biting your tongue off when your shoulder tears and your side stretches. Mando calls your stupid nickname in alarm, quickly attaching a new hook to his grapple line to repell down to you. He holds you in his arms and descends as you try not to cry out in pain. When you get down, you’re ready to beat some sense into the Gran, but pause when your boots squelch. 

Ah. That was brain matter. On the ground. 

“I guess he didn’t make it,” he notes, nudging Graug’s body with the tip of his boot. You turn your head to face Mando. 

_You think?_

_–_

Mando is carrying the remnants of Graug over his shoulder as you limp behind him. You probably should’ve said something when your wounds start to burn. 

When you realize your blood isn’t clotting, you think about talking to him again to let him know. 

You _definitely_ say something by the time you get to the ship and you’re lightheaded from blood loss, and when you look back, you see your blood making a trail from the mountain. You won’t make it onto the ship. Hindsight is always 20/20.

“Mando,” you breath. He freezes and looks back just as you collapse on the ramp. He tosses Graug’s body haphazardly into the ship and grabs you to stop you from sliding down the ramp. Your vision is coming and going, feeling like you’re underwater as Mando hauls you up and into the ship, stepping over the bounty’s mangles body. He sets you on the floor with a grunt and digs around for medical supplies. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” he snaps. You motion weakly in the direction of Graug. Or what was Graug, at least. Mando slips as more brain matter leaks out, and you let out a huff of laughter. “Now is not the time. Shit, why isn’t it stopping?” He presses cloth into your shoulder, and you groan in pain. 

“Anti-coagulant,” you grit out, voice hoarse. Your vision whites out as he jostles you to try and find the other sources of blood. 

“I have to take off your armor,” he says bluntly. Mando is trying not to let panic set into his tone. “I, shit, I’m sorry I have to-” You slap a hand against his chestplate to shut him up, leaving a bloody handprint over where his heart is. You nod and tilt your head to show the straps. Mando fumbles with your armor. He doesn’t want to hurt you more than you already are, and his hands are slick with your blood. Still, he makes quick work and strips you down to your shirt and pants, cutting away the surrounding fabric to reveal where Graug stabbed you, fresh blood pooling underneath your body. In any other circumstance, you would’ve felt naked and exposed, but as black spots dot your vision, you can’t bring yourself to care.

Mando digs around the medpack before swearing and dumping the contents out. “There’s no more bacta.” You point at the cauterizer. He halts. “It’ll scar.” You slam your fist against the floor and point more insistently at it. You’ve grown tired of him treating you so gently when you know you’ve gone through the same things as him. Hot anger flashes through you.

“Since when have you cared that it’ll _scar_?” you scream at him. Mando flinches back and hesitates at your outburst, but grabs the cauterizer and some numb spray. He works on your shoulder first. He sprays a minimal amount on your open wound before going in. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming out in pain. 

“You know that’s the most amount of words in a single sentence I’ve ever heard you say?” Mando asks. He wipes some blood off with a gauze pad and continues working as the smell of burning flesh wafts into your helmet. “I’m surprised you actually know Basic.” You loll your head to the side to stare at him. “All this time, I assumed you didn’t know how to talk at all,” he muses, moving down to your side. He repeats his motions. You huff at him, and you taste blood in your mouth as you bite your lip. His voice starts to fade in and out, but you force yourself to try and pick out what he’s saying so you don’t pass out. You appreciate his gesture. 

“When we get out– Bight is nice this time of year– ver to get the brains off of– of my mind, you know? Oh, and–” 

You must’ve finally passed out at some point because Mando is nudging your helmet to try and shake you awake. When you look around, your wounds are bandaged and the blood and brain matter have been scrubbed away from the floor. The flickering lights indicate that you’re in hyperspace. Mando is kneeling next to you on your makeshift cot. “Are you okay?” You lick your dry lips and give him a nod. “Water?” You nod again, and he hands you his canteen before turning away to leave and go back to the cockpit so that you can take off your helmet to drink it. You speak to stop him. 

“Wait.” Mando turns to you. You hesitate, then give him your name.

“Who?” he stupidly asks. It’s cute. 

“My name,” you explain. Silence. 

“Oh.” You wish that you didn’t have to follow the creed so that he can see you crack a smile. 

“You don’t have to tell me yours.”

“What?”

“‘s so you can stop calling me ‘Dog’,” you supply, leaning back and cradling the canteen in your hands. Mando shakes his head affectionately and goes back up to the cockpit.

“Whatever you say, Dog!” he calls down. 

You don’t know that Mando wishes that you could see his grin as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After your brush with death, you continue your travels with Mando and reveal some things about your past that surprises him.

It’s been a couple of weeks after you had turned in the bounty and collected your payment. Mando had dropped you off at a secure medical facility to make sure you weren’t going to die and then left without a word, and you had thought that was the last you would see of him in the foreseeable future. To your surprise, he came back just as you were cleared for release, and brought back a handful of new bounties for you to hunt down with him, saying “ _K’loar_ , Dog”. _Come_. You had just given him a nod, throat swelling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

–

You and Mando are comfortably travelling in hyperspace to some agricultural planet in the Mid Rim looking for the last of your bounties, bright lights flashing by and reflecting off of your armor. You lean back in your seat and turn to look at him. “Do you think we ever knew each other before?” you muse, breaking the silence. This is the first time you’ve spoken to him since the Grau.

If he’s surprised at you initiating conversation, he hides it well. He doesn’t look at you, but presses a couple of buttons and tilts his head. “What do you mean? Before what?” You shrug, then motion to his helmet and knock against yours in response. 

_Before we swore the creed._

Mando pauses as he considers your question. He really can’t be that much older than you, and since there aren’t that many Mandalores around anymore, it’s somewhat plausible that you may have crossed paths before you and him were helmeted. He knows in his heart that he shouldn’t hold hope, but he rifles through his past memory to try and figure out when he could’ve seen you before. But without actually seeing your face, it’s hard to really tell He remembers little of his life before the Mandalores; he had moved on and focused on his training and hunting. “It’s… possible,” he answers instead. “Although it’s more likely that we’ve met after. If we’re both in the Guild, there’s probably some times that we would’ve _just_ missed each other.” You nod and accept his answer. It was just an innocent question that held no real weight. With that, you turn back to gaze outside the windows. You don’t want to pry more about him, and you think he won’t expect you to speak up again. You start to doze off in the co-pilot’s seat. 

Mando surprises you again when he asks, “What about you? You think we’ve met before all this?” You startle awake and shake your head.

“Doubt it,” you murmur. You hope he doesn’t mind the curt answers; a sudden wave of exhaustion washes over you. “Swore the creed when I was young.” Mando hums in acknowledgment and doesn’t press further, but the words that follow spill out before you can stop yourself. Although you don’t feel much for talking, your lips are loose. “After the Fall of the Republic,” you mumble, shifting in your seat to find a more comfortable position as your eyes flutter shut. “Separatist droids. Killed my village. Mandalores found me,” you miss how Mando’s head snaps to look at you, shoulders tense, “hiding with some kid.” You yawn as sleep finally washes over you. “Wonder what happened to him…” you trail off. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to rip his gaze from your sleeping form. A million thoughts race through his head at once. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. It’s all he can say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay a brief explanation as to why Mando doesn’t recognize you by name if you were in the same exact situation as he was: because I said so. 
> 
> Just kidding. 
> 
> Anyways, Mando was obviously a very young child when this all happened, and after all that, there’s bound to be some trauma from the loss, even if he uses it to fuel his commitment to the Way. It also seems like he keeps reliving that moment multiple times, as seen whenever the Armorer makes his new equipment and at the standoff with Moff Gideon. That moment is important to him, so it would make sense that as he keeps refining that moment, it can change and it strips away what isn’t crucial to him i.e. his parents’ deaths, the Mandalorian coming to save him, and jetpacking away and seeing Mandalores destroying the droids. 
> 
> I won’t say more because there are some things that I want to explore with this new bit of information being revealed, but I will say that the bounty in Ch. 2 is the first time they’ve really met since that day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mando is refuelling the Razor Crest and looking for information about your quarry, you decide to venture into the markets to quell your boredom. Caught up in admiring the trinkets, you end up coming back to the hangar much later than when Mando told you to be back by. He expresses some concerns to you.

“Time frame?” you ask him quietly. Talking has become… somewhat easier around Mando, but you try to keep your voice down so that only he can hear you. 

“Mechanic said around three hours. Says my hyperdrive is, in her words, “bad as three week old banthu milk”,” he answers dryly. You snort and nod to say, _Sounds about right_. There have been instances where you have nearly dropped out of hyperspace mid-flight, which did make you anxious. You did not want to end up halfway in some random planet or planetoid. 

You and Mando had stopped at some scavenging planet to refuel and tune up the wonky hyperdrive before honing in to the bounty. He collects some of his things as you stand up from your seat. It’s hot on this planet, and you feel like you’re cooking under all your armor. “I’m gonna have a look around, ask about our other bounties,” he says, slinging his rifle on. “You can come if you want, or just come back here in three hours. Up to you.” You consider it, but ultimately motion for him to go ahead without you. He nods and heads down the ramp to scout while you think about what you can do. 

You did spot a market a mile away when you were flying down. Maybe you’d have a look around.

–

Mando knows that he looks crazy as he speedwalks through the town calling out your nickname. But the sun has already gone low in the sky, and you haven’t returned. In fact, it’s been nearly an hour since the time he told you to be back by. It’s unbecoming of you; you’re usually a stickler for keeping a tight schedule, and it worries him. 

Two elderly ladies stop him and ask if he’s lost his pet when he calls you by your moniker, but Mando just shakes his head and keep darting through the streets looking for the glint of you beskar armor. His mind runs through all the possible situations you could be in. 

A) You have been indisposed by another hunter because you had a bounty on you.

B) Someone had taken off your helmet, and you had fled the planet already. 

C) Someone decided to exact revenge on you for something he didn’t know and were currently being held hostage. 

Or D) You were standing at a stall quietly conversing with a vendor and paying her a few credits for some kind of bauble. 

Mando clenches his jaw and marches up to you, grabbing your arm. “ _Where have you been?_ ” he hisses. You awkwardly motion with the hand that was holding the little trinket to the market around you. He sighs, and he swears he feels a headache coming on. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The vendor, a little Zeltron elder, skin a washed out red, smiles knowingly. 

“Is this your husband?” she asks delightedly, accent slipping through. She claps her hands together. “Yes! Very well! Tall, strong, no doubt.” She reaches across her booth to peer closer at Mando, searching for something before she nods approvingly. “Matching armor sets,” she continues gleefully. Mando is taken aback, but you just roll your eyes. 

“Not my husband,” you say gruffly. You tuck away the rest of your credits. The expression on the vendor doesn’t fade, but instead, her smile widens even more. 

“Ah, so your _boyfriend_! Do not worry, I have something just for you,” she said firmly. She ducks under the table and rummages around before pulling out an amulet and shoving it into your hands. “Take this!”

“I don’t have the credits,” you say gently, trying to put it back in her hands, but she wraps your fingers around it and draws back out of your reach. 

“Free of charge,” she insists. She looks pleased when you finally nod and slip it into your bag. 

“What’s it for?” Mando asks. You hope that means that he isn’t going to be mad at you, but you know he’s just making sure it was safe and not some sort of explosive or tracking device. 

“Virility! To make sure you make strong, healthy babies!” You choke and glance at Mando, who, you’re sure, looks equally surprised under his helmet. She leans in close so that only you can hear. “And to strengthen your bond. Very old magic,” she adds, pointing the amulet. When you look at it, it appears to be two lovers in a winding embrace, wrapped around each other so tightly that you can’t distinguish who’s limb is who’s. It’s tarnished, but there are spots that appears to have been rubbed so that it’s shiny. Before you can say anything, Mando pulls you away and she winks knowingly at you and turns to address a bewildered customer who had been watching the whole ordeal.

On your trek back, Mando doesn’t say anything to you, and being the “talker” that you are, you don’t say anything either. Which made for a very awkward and tense walk. At the hangar, Mando tosses the mechanic their credits and stomps up the ramp. 

“What’s his problem?” the mechanic asks. You just sigh and shrug before trailing after him, hoping that he’s cooled off.

But at the console, Mando isn’t any better. He practically punches the buttons and jerks the ship up, forcing you to take a seat lest you want to roll backwards out of the cockpit. When you’re stable in the air, you clear your throat and pointedly look at him. He ignores you in favor of putting in the coordinates for your bounty. You clear your throat again. 

“If you wanna say something, use your words,” he spits out. You scowl. So he’s gonna play it like that, huh? He’s counting on you not wanting to talk, but if he’s acting like a child, you have to be mature–. “Oh wait, you can’t,” he says. Low blow. You’re fuming at his cold shoulder. Just because you had lost track of time doesn’t mean that he had to treat you so harshly. You were his equal- not a child. You get up and dig into your bag, and toss the item you purchased at him, a different amulet, priding in the metallic _clank_ as it hits his helmet. Mando turns in his seat, snatches it up, and prepares to throw it back at you in retaliation until he realizes what it is. His breath catches in his throat as he holds it to the light. 

It’s a mythosaur skull necklace. The mark of the Mandalores. Made of solid beskar. Why did the old woman have this?

“For you,” you snarl at him. “But it seems like I wasted my money.” You turn and leave the cockpit. He hear him follow after you, boots clanking as you descend into the lower hull, tossing your bag and weapons on your makeshift cot. 

“Dog,” Mando says. You ignore him and go about fumbling with your equipment. You hadn’t actually expected him to follow you, so you have to make yourself busy. You turn to escape into the refresher, but you walk straight into his chestplate. 

“Move,” you order, but he stays put. He calls your nickname again, and your clench your fists. “Move.”

“ _Udesii_ ,” he says, and you think he is actually socially inept because that’s what Mandalores use to tell their _literal_ hounds to calm down. You throw a punch at his helmet and knock him down, ignoring how your knuckles throb. 

“Make no mistake: I’m not a _fucking_ dog,” you say to him, voice low. “You can call me that all you want, but I am not here to be at your beck and call, and certainly not something that you can control.” He sits up. You raise a finger at him to continue your yelling, but instead he grabs your hand and pulls you down on top of him. You have half a mind to shoot him. “Hey–!” 

He murmurs your name. Your real name, and you freeze. Sure, you’ve told him your name some nights ago in this very ship, but he hasn’t actually said it outloud. You draw back wait with bated breath for Mando to say something, staring into the visor of his helmet. You know he’s doing that same. He swallows. 

“Thank you,” he says. You flick your eyes down at the mythosaur amulet sitting on top of his armor. “I was just… worried.” If you hadn’t been travelling with him for weeks now, it would’ve sounded forced, but you know he’s being sincere. “You’re usually on time. For everything.” You sigh. It’s true, but you just haven’t really had any time to yourself since working with Mando. While you don’t have much free time since you’re chasing down your next paycheck, you had become accustomed to being alone. Having someone worry about you was… new. Not unwelcome, though. You get up and Mando follows your movement, helmet trained on yours. You hold out a hand for him to grasp, and he hauls himself up. When he gets up, he jostles you, and something falls out of your pocket. 

It’s the amulet of the two lovers that the old woman gave to you. Mando bends down to pick it up and turns it in his hands. He hums. 

“This thing is old,” he notes. “Looks like it’s been passed down through many hands, judging by the looks of it.” He hands it back to you and tilts his head. “What did that lady say to you? Back at the market?” 

“Just that it was valuable,” you lie. Mando accepts your answer and goes back up to the cockpit. You don’t know why you lied to him. 

_And to strengthen your bond_ , her voice whispers in your mind. _Very old magic_. 

You tuck the amulet back into your pocket and go up the ladder to join him. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You relive the day you lost all you’ve known, and live through events that have yet come to pass.

It’s funny. 

That even after its been years since the massacre of your family. 

It still haunts you. 

–

_It comes as fast as the flooding spring rains on your homeplanet._

_When you open your eyes, the killings have already started. Building doors are kicked in and the windows light up with blaster shots, screams and wails cut short with barely a gurgle. The droids don’t care. Their metal faces don’t show any emotion. You’re disoriented, but you know what this is going to be. A recreation of a torture made up by your own mind. Being forced to relive the harrowing moment that your life upturns. Something is different this time. You aren’t seeing this through your younger self’s eyes. You catch your reflection in the shattered glass._

_Your Mandalorian helm gazes back._

_At an explosion, you jerk back, the flash blinding you as you stumble around. A sense of panic overwhelms you as you jerk around, trying to find your bearings, the screams of the massacred families echoes and ringing in your ears. Someone calls your name. A child._

_You scramble over debris as you try and locate the voice, only to be knocked back by two children running past you into a couple’s arms, leaving behind the bodies of your parents. You recognize the tear-stained face of yourself, but you can’t see the boy’s. Hazed, you trail the couple’s frantic run through the town, following them as they open an underground shed and drop yourself and the boy down. You’ve never seen this as an outsider._

_As you get there and attempt to peer over their shoulders to watch the two children, an explosion rocks the ground, prompting the couple to shut the shed and flee. You reach out a hand to open the doors, but a sharp cry of your name and a hand around your arm stops you. You whip around and your breath catches in your throat._

_“Mando?” you say weakly. This wasn’t right. He’s never been in your dreams before, and you’re certain he wasn’t here when tragedy befell your town. He calls your name again._

_“We have to leave!” he shouts, tugging at your arm. You look back at the closed doors._

_“But the children–” You pull yourself from his grip and take a step backwards, just as a blaster goes through his chest and knocks him forward and onto you. Gasping, you scramble backwards, pushing his body off you as his warm blood spills on the earth. You blink._

–

“Jate dalyc,” _a warm voice murmurs in your ear._ Good girl. _A gloved hand rests on your neck as you jerk back to turn and face Mando. You feel yourself grin and flush with his praise, leaning into his hold._

_“Why thank you, Mandalorian,” you say teasingly. “Putting someone in carbonite is just so hard, you know?” The words are coming out of your mouth so easily. Mando laughs and a warm feeling sits in your stomach._

_“Oh I bet, Dog,” he says. Mando’s voice is older, you note, more weathered, but affectionate. You lean out of his grip and smack his arm playfully._

_“I can’t believe you brought that up again,” you scowl. “It’s been years since anyone has actually called me that. Besides you, Mando,” you add. You duck under his half-hearted swipe, and you can feel his pouting from behind his helmet. Of course, no one calls you that to your face. But you know people whisper about the Mandalorian and his vicious Hound behind your backs._

_“It’s so impersonal when you say that,” he whines. You laugh warmly as you grasp the sides of his helmet to knock yours against him in a Keldabe Kiss._

_“And what would you like me to call you?” you ask._

_“My name.” You tilt your head._

_“Your… name?” you ask. You don’t know his name. He would never tell you. Mando holds your wrists gently._

_“Yes,_ cyar’ika,” _he says._ Sweetheart. _“My name.” Your heart flutters at his pet name, but his grip tightens painfully and you cry out in pain. Your breath starts coming in short pants. “My name,” he growls. He pushes you against the wall of the_ Razor Crest _. “Say it.” You try pulling your hands away, but his grip holds fast._

_“I- I don’t–!” you stammer. He slams your head against the wall and snarls, forcing you to look into his helmet. You can’t see his eyes. You don’t know if you should be glad or not._

“Say it!”

–

_You find yourself staring at the helmet of the Mandalorian at your feet. You vaguely recognize the landscape around you in your periphery. You’re back on your homeplanet, but not in your village. Somewhere remote, but smoke rises in the horizon. It’s silent._

_You walk closer to Mando’s helmet; it feels like you’re forcing yourself through syrup. A ringing starts building in your ears as your vision focuses on the helm below you. You bend down to pick it up, but it feels ten times heavier in your hands. You realize why when you bring it eye level at you._

_Mando’s severed head falls out of the helmet onto the earth below with a sickening squelch as the ringing grows into a piercing wail, and you realize it’s you._

–

“–ke up!”

You gasp awake as someone shakes you roughly. You blindly throw a punch in your panic, your fist making contact and making a clanging sound. They grunt in pain as you roll out of their grip, fumbling for your blaster at your hip. You draw it and release the safety before you realize. 

You’re looking down your blaster at the Mandalorian’s helmet. It’s a tense silence before you shake yourself of your stupor and shove the blaster back in its holster. You take in a shaky breath and turn away from him.

_You’re safe. Mando is alive. You’re staking out a bounty. You’re safe. He’s not dead._

Mando gives you a minute before gently putting a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks. You nod your head and put your hand on his wrist before you yank your hand away as your nightmare flashes through your mind. Mando, bless the Maker, doesn’t say anything about it. He just stares at you before dropping his hand to his side. “The lights are off at the hideout,” he says, pointing to where the quarry was barricading himself in. “He hasn’t left, so he’s probably sleeping.” You nod, and go to grab your electrospear from your speeder. In your panicked state, you don’t notice how his eyes follow you. 

He decides not to ask you why you were murmuring his real name in your sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bounty tells you some interesting things about the amulet that the vendor had given you. You return to Greef Karga to collect your money from the bounties, and find that your reputation has changed within the guild from a no one to an almost legendary status. You have no time to celebrate your quick ascension, as something Greef Karga unknowingly says stirs up something you wish you could forget.

Thank the stars the last bounty had the sense to come with you quietly. Although you tried your hardest not to show it, your nightmares has shaken you up as you rack your memory again and again to make sure that Mando wasn’t there. After years of thinking that you had known the events that led you to where you were, the appearance of one person had shaken the foundation. 

Caught in your own head, you don’t talk to Mando for the entire trip back to meet Greef Karga on Nevarro, and you miss the worried glances Mando sneaks at you. 

You also miss how the bounty keeps looking back at forth and you and Mando, bewildered and intimidated at the lack of conversation.

Mando doesn’t miss it, and eventually tells the bounty, “If you have something you want to say, say it now.” The bounty, a mousy human that went by Osvabrod, but insisted you had called him ‘just Brod’, let out a squeak. After a few moments without a sound, you assumed that he didn’t have anything to say, but instead says:

“Are you guys having relationship problems?” His mouth snaps shut as both of you swivel to glare at him. “S-sorry! Sorry!” he stammers out. You turn away and audibly sigh as you look out the window. 

“What makes you say that?” Mando asks dryly. He turns back, not looking for an answer.

“Well,” Osvabrod- _Brod_ , starts slowly. 

“It was a rhetorical question,” Mando interrupts. 

“You guys aren’t talking,” Brod says anyways. 

“They usually don’t talk anyways.” 

“And you guys must’ve been together for a while--”

“We _aren’t_ together.” You start to tune out the conversation. You never understood why Mando humors his quarries with conversation. It’s probably because you carrying a conversation is as rare as beskar these days. _Someone_ had to talk to him. 

“And you keep looking over at them, but they’re ignoring you, which _looks_ like it annoys you--”

“It doesn’t-- You can’t even see my face; why would you--”

“I can practically _feel_ the _tension_ between you two.”

“What tension?”

“So you are having a lovers spat. Marriage problem?”

“For the last time, we aren’t together, much less _married_ \--”

“Then why do you have a _riduurok_ amulet?” Mando stops short and you tense up. When you turn to look at Brod, he has a smug look on his face as he motions with his cuffed hands at the amulet that hangs on a stray hook in the cockpit. You had left it there because you didn’t want to keep it on you, but couldn’t find it in your heart to throw it away. _Riduurok_. That was a love bond, specifically between spouses, but it was most often used to describe--

“It’s supposed to represent a marriage agreement,” Brod says. “That means you’re married.” Under your helmet, you pale. Is _that_ what it meant? You knew that a marriage between Mandalores did involve some kind of giving and recitation, but ever since the Mandalores had to scatter, marriage or bond of any kind was few and far between. They had started to rely more and more on foundlings rather than producing children of their own. You had been a child when the Siege of Mandalore happened, so the Mandalorians that had rescued you did not really teach you of such matters. Surviving was much more important. You did know one couple when you were growing up, and that was as far as your experience went. How did the vendor at the market get it? You steal a glance at Mando. If he didn’t know that it was a _riduurok_ amulet, then he must’ve become a Mandalorian after the Siege as well. “If you want my advice--”

“We don’t,” you and Mando say simultaneously, deadpan. You bite your tongue. That had slipped out without you thinking. Luckily, Brod is too caught up in his own head to notice that you’ve finally said something. It doesn’t escape Mando’s attention, however, and he looks at you as if to say, _That’s what it took?_

“-- I think you guys just need to fuck.” 

You think you feel a headache coming on. 

“Alright. That’s it.” Mando sets the _Razor Crest_ to autopilot and gets up, hauling Brod by the collar of his shirt and throwing him unceremoniously down the ladder. Brod squawks in protest. From your position in the cockpit, you hear Brod stammer out apologies that are quickly silenced as Mando puts him in carbonite. Hm. Your headache subsided. When Mando plops himself down back in the pilot’s seat, he lets out a heavy sigh. Ah. It’s back. 

“Did… did you know that--”

“No,” you say curtly. You’re burning holes into the amulet that hangs on the wall. Mando expects you to say more, but you keep your lips sealed. He sets the coordinates for Nevarro, and goes into hyperdrive.

\--

When you slide into the booth across from Greef Karga, you carefully take in the surprised look on his face. It’s not… hostile, by any means. Just genuine surprise on his face. You settle when Mando slides in next to you and hands over the fobs back over to Karga, and his attention on you is taken away. 

“Good job, my friend,” he congratulates. “Your credits, as promised.” Mando automatically takes them from Karga and splits it, giving you an equal half that Karga watches with curiosity. “I was not… aware that you had taken on the bounties with a partner,” he says, carefully choosing his words. You put your credits in your pouch. He looks hesitant. “Much less a, well, another Mandalorian.” Mando puts his own credits away. 

“Do you have any more pucks?” he asks instead. 

“Mando, you know I only deal with one hunter at a time,” Karga says patiently. You don’t break your gaze on him. You hope it makes him nervous. The sweat collecting on his brow isn’t from the heat. You’re glad the helmet hides your grin. 

“They’re with me,” Mando answers swiftly. “Pucks?” Karga stares back at you, but his eyes are roving your face for any signs. For what exactly, you don’t know. The helmet betrays nothing. 

“Do you work for the guild?” he asks you suspiciously. You nod. You’ve never really been to Nevarro. You preferred doing your bounties on basically the other side of the galaxy. “What’s your name?” You lean back and clasp your hands on the table, a figure of relaxation, looking over at Mando expectantly. 

“They go by ‘Dog’,” Mando says for you. 

“‘Dog’?” Kreef repeats incredulously. 

“It’s a rather recent development--”

“So you are the infamous Hound!” Kreef interrupts, slapping his hands on the table. The sudden change in demeanor surprises you and Mando. He leans in close to whisper, but his idea of whispering is still incredibly loud. “I have been hearing so much about you! Come now, would you like a drink?” You stare, but eventually shake your head. Is he seriously asking you if you wanted a drink? “Apologies for the apprehension, friend,” he says. Oh, so now you were his _friend_. “I didn’t know if you were the Hound or not. I had thought, “Perhaps Mando has somehow gotten a friend outside the guild?” But I know that Mando is not the type for friends,” he says. You frown. You don’t like this man. You don’t trust anyone that openly talks bad about someone in front of them. 

“Pucks,” Mando says again, more impatiently this time. Greef Karga ignores him again in favor of interrogating you. 

“Tell me, is it true that you’re mute?” he asks. “Some hunters say that that helmet of yours is really a muzzle.”

“If you have no bounties, we’ll be on our way,” Mando snaps. Karga flinches away in alarm, leaning back with his hands up in surrender. 

“Just merely inquiring, Mando, no need for hostility,” he says. He pulls out a few pucks. “You and your friend can take their pick.” You reach forward to take all of the pucks, but Karga grabs your wrist to stop you. Instinctively, you slam your hand down in a fist to crush his hand against the table. He snatches his hand away, and you withdraw as well, aware of the eyes that are watching the exchange warily. Karga scowls at you, but he wipes the looks from his face and replaces it with a stern look instead. He holds his hand gingerly. “Not all of them; I have other hunters, too, you know.” You tilt your head. You take half and slide them over to Mando, and then take the other half for yourself, doing it slowly, waiting for Karga to make a move, but he begrudgingly lets you. Secretly, you’re excited. Your status in the Guild honestly hasn’t been that great, meaning you were stuck with one or two at a time of low-stakes bounties. People weren’t exactly eager to give jobs to someone that couldn’t verbally guarantee they would get the job done. Looks like working with Mando and getting that high-stakes bounty put your name on the list.

“Chain codes?” Mando asks bluntly. Greef Karga puts the fobs on the table, and Mando takes them, moving to get up. You stare at Karga before starting to move to follow Mando who has stopped to wait for you some feet away. 

“You are as vicious as they say you are, Hound,” he says. You stop. “Many of us wonder what you are like without Mando to pull on your leash.” He looks smug, and you can’t help but think that you would like to put him in carbonite. “Half of us say that the bounties would be dead if it were up to you,” he continues. “The other half says that you wouldn’t even return with them. That is, at least, intact.” Karga smiles. “You would’ve just eaten them up.” 

Okay now you’re confused. 

You’ve never been particularly brutal with your bounties. If anything, you were nicer and more forgiving than Mando, as much as a Mandalorian bounty hunter could be. If they wouldn’t come willingly, you would knock them out with a med-shot and drag them back to the Razor Crest if Mando didn’t already. Sure, you weren’t _gentle_ with them, but you weren’t cruel. All of them have been alive or in carbonite since you’ve started really going on bounties with Mando, except--

That’s when it clicks. 

Graug the Gran. The damn bounty that put you on the list in the first place. You remember how his body had come back. His body was mangles and half of his head was missing and caved in. The state of his body before he had actually died probably didn’t help your case either. You suppose word got around that you were on the mission with Mando, and the rumors had somehow evolved that you had done that to him. Not a nasty fall and malnourishment. You had nearly forgotten about him, actually. Your memory of the aftermath was fuzzy, high on the effects of the bacta shot the medical facility had given you. 

“What a pair you make,” Greef Karga says, feigning absentmindedness, low enough that only you can hear. “The Mandalorian and his vicious Hound.” 

When you blink, you’re rushing past Mando and out the doors of the cantina, the words echoing in your head. 

_The Mandalorian and his vicious Hound._

Although this was the first time you had heard the words said out loud, you already knew that phrase. 

A few nights ago when you had that fitful sleep, staking out the very bounty that was being hauled out of the _Razor Crest_ , a look of horror on his face forever frozen in carbonite. Mando catches up to and puts a hand on your shoulder, turning you around so that you’re looking at him. 

“What was that about?” he asks. “What’d he say to you?” You say nothing, and stare up at Mando, breathing heavily as a wave of nausea hits you. “Dog?” he says worriedly. A vision flashes through you as you look at the reflection of yourself in his helmet. 

A severed head falling out the same helmet you’re looking at now--

You sprint to the _Razor Crest_ , up the ramp, and down to the refresher, just barely managing to slam the door shut behind you and rip your helmet off before you’re retching into the vacc tube. When you hear him call for you, another wave of nausea passes through you. Your hands are clammy under your gloves. He knocks against the door of the refresher, but the faint ringing in your ears tune him out. You flush the vacc tube and get up to stare at yourself in the grimy mirror. The color is gone from your face, a sickly pallor about you, and there are bags under your eyes that make you look older. Another knock. You grip the sink to steady your trembling hands. Whatever the vision was, it’s slipping from you like you’re trying to hold onto water in your hands, and you slip your helmet back on. By the time it has resealed, you can’t remember what had you so sick. 

You open the door and breeze past Mando who watches you carefully as you go up the ladder and into the cockpit. You rip the amulet off the hook, snapping the cord, and throw it on the ground, gritting your teeth. You hear his heavy steps behind you. You sit yourself down in your chair, and look forwards, pointedly refusing to look at Mando. He sits in the pilot’s seat and starts up the ship. You can tell he wants to say something, but he’s never really been the one for comfort. 

It appears Mando will stay silent for another night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my knowledge of Mandalorian weddings are… nearly none. I don’t think there is even that much lore about it, based on a rather extensive google search. So, I made some stuff up, but there are some things in lore that I do know about it that didn’t make its way into this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You head to Canto Bight to gather more information about a bounty of yours when you’re ambushed and drugged. Your relationship with Mando is ever confusing.

You vaguely remember Mando saying that Canto Bight was nice this time of year, back when you were bleeding all over the floor of the _Razor Crest_ and half delirious. As you fly in, the bright lights of the city almost make your head hurt. You’ve been here once a long time ago, you remember, for an emergency landing that had cost you an arm and a leg just so that you could leave your rented ship overnight. 

It’s a bit of a rough landing about a mile or so away from the city, landing somewhere in an unlit, grassy area, scaring some fathiers away. You head to the back to suit up, Mando trailing after you. 

“We’re looking for someone by the name of Desdre,” he informs. “He was a part of the same intergalactic gang as the bounty. He says he’ll tell us where Jahjon is in exchange for our word that we won’t turn him in.” You tilt your head. It seems suspicious that he was willing to give such precious information in return for safety. There’s no doubt the same thought has crossed his mind. 

“Will we?” you ask. Mando scoffs and slings his rifle over his shoulder and tucks ammo away. 

“We’ll see,” he says curtly, and leaves the ship. You tuck in a few more medshots into your vambrace and check the fuel for your flamethrower and follow him like a shadow. 

\--

You don’t feel underdressed, exactly, but in the glitz and glamour of the glitter and expensive fabrics, you and Mando stick out like a sore thumb with your scratched up beskar and arsenal. If Mando is affected by the stares and whispers that follow you, he doesn’t show it. He goes through the alleyways and backstreets of Canto Bight, past the drugged-out spice users and teens using deathsticks, past the couples and trios and straight up orgies on the streets. You’re not quite sure where he’s going, but you stick close to him, warily watching the rooftops. Eventually, he stops at an ornate wooden door, and knocks three times. 

“Who is it?” a singsongy voice calls out. The door swings open to reveal a very scantily dressed man, gold paint rimming his dark eyes, face flushed from drinking and eyes red from spice. He pushes his curly hair up and out of his face, the bangles on his wrist jingling, eyeing you and Mando up and down hungrily. “Oh hello there,” he purrs, and practically lounges against the doorframe. “Mandalorians? What brings you here to my humble abode?” You shift your eyes away from his searching gaze to look beyond him and into the room. Moans and giggles drift into the open air. Did Mando just bring you to drug den?

“We’re looking for Desdre,” Mando answers. “Urgent business.” The man raises a carefully plucked eyebrow and squints his eyes. 

“Like what?” he questions. There are hickies and bruises lining his throat.

“None of your business, that’s for sure,” Mando says, and you think that the man is about to refuse you entry, but his face breaks into a charming smile and motions for you two to come in. 

“Be my guest,” he drawls. He doesn’t move from his position, and forces you and Mando to brush past him, and you grit your teeth as you feel hands feel you up. Judging by the sudden tense shoulders, the same has happened to Mando. The man’s voice leans in close and you do your best to try not flinch from the sudden wave of perfume and musk. His grip on your wrist is hot. “If you and your friend ever decide to come back, not on business, just ask for Pretre, hm?” he whispers, voice low and wanton. You quickly pull yourself away from him, ignoring how he laughs, and follow Mando to the back. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a Mando!” his voice calls out after you. 

The further back into the room you go, the less clothes there are, and the more blissed out the people look. Eventually, you come to an area of the room blocked off by velveteen curtains. You push through it, and wince.

You didn’t think that people wore those gold metal bikinis _willingly_. 

Still, it’s better than nothing, and your gaze settles on a man, sitting in the center of the pile of blankets and soft pillows, covered by a thin robe, pulling his face from the neck of an attractive Twi’lek whose hands are tangled in his dark hair, and grinning when he sees you and Mando. A few men and women peel themselves off of the floor to prowl around you. It’s hazy in here from smoke and stifling from all the bodies. The lights from outside are barely trickling in, heavy curtains on every window, and your eyes strain to adjust.

“Desdre,” Mando says. You scowl under your helmet as you grab the wrist of someone who was feeling up your leg. 

“Mando!” Desdre crows. He flourishes his arm out. “Come sit! You and your friend- please, relax.” Neither of you move, and Desdre at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. “Well, can I offer you something to drink? Some spice? Or a girl?” he offers, waggling his eyebrows. 

“We’re not here to waste time,” Mando says. Desdre sighs and gets up, soothing the girls that whine and ruffling the hair of a boy that kisses his calf as he moves to stand in front of you and Mando, pipe dangling in his fingers.

“Always business, Mando, and no play,” he complains in a lilting accent. “Who’s your friend?” He trails a finger up your armor before tapping it a couple of times. “Another Mandalorian?” He takes a deep drag from his pipe and blows sickly sweet smoke in your face. Although your helmet filters out most of it, the smell still makes your head ring. 

“Yes.”

“Hm, interesting,” he hums. He stares intensely at you. 

“Jahjon. You said know where he is?” Mando asks. Desdre nods, and goes back to join his harem, leaning back languidly as they crawl over him again. He teasingly smacks the rear of someone you can’t quite see.

“I do, my friend,” he says. “But remember what I asked for? My safety guaranteed for information.” At that, more people slip in the room past the dividing curtains. You count in your head. There’s seven people in here now, all looking at you like you’re their next meal. 

“You have our word,” Mando says, but Desdre clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“I need to hear it from both of you,” he orders, his piercing gaze looking straight at you. You clench your jaw, and you want to smack the smug grin from his face. “I’ve heard about you, you know? The Dog? Loyal to your master and hunting together. I’ve heard you’re ruthless in the field.” All the heads in the room have turned to look at you in unison, and you would’ve found it unsettling if there wasn’t a cold weight settling in your stomach. “Especially how that poor Gran came back in pieces, body mangled like he’d been bashed in.” He’s playing you, you know it, and you shouldn’t let it affect you, but your temper is uncharacteristically short. “Your bite really is worse than your bark, huh? I wonder what you’re like in bed. If you _fuck_ as brutally as you kill.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Mando finally says frustratedly. He steps forward. “If you won’t help us--”

“You have my word,” you grit out, interrupting Mando. You hate this. You hate how you’ve become notorious and people have started _assuming_ , more bold and daring, pushing your buttons and bending you, expecting you to break. You hate that people have started twisting the facts about you to make you more vicious, more blood-thirsty and unforgiving when that’s not anywhere remotely close to the truth. You don’t know how it’s come to this. You haven’t really even done anything remotely interesting. As far as you’re concerned, you’re nobody. A Mandalore without a clan who doesn’t even know why there are people so curious about you. You think the world is against you, using your moment of weakness where your nightmares have been gnawing at you to try and knock you down, degrading you down to a feral animal. You want to prove them wrong. You’ve bled for Mando to know you're human, and you really don’t want to bleed again.

“And so she speaks,” Desdre says, looking pleasantly surprised, and Mando glances at you. “Mando finally took the muzzle off you?”

But you decide to play the part of that mangy mutt, and bare your teeth.

You don't know what it is that made you do it, what possessed you to make such a rash decision, but you pull the blaster from your holster and point it at Desdre. 

“Jahjon. Where is he?” you demand, voice low and dangerous. The people flocking on either side of Desdre scramble away. 

“Dog,” Mando hisses. “Put that down.” You ignore him and stalk closer, your blaster still carefully trained. Desdre doesn’t even look fazed. He looks at you curiously. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Something’s wrong. Your limbs feel too heavy and the room is spinning. It’s too bright in here, even in low-light. 

“Answer me,” you bark. Your grip wavers, and Desdre smiles. 

“I don’t know.” 

“ _What_?”

Mando walks up to stand close to you and tries to pull your arm back, but you wrench it out his grip, and accidentally fire into the ceiling. 

The room descends into chaos. 

Desdre stumbles back, and his little harem get up, looking alert, drawing their own weapons, and as more people flood into the room, surrounding you, you know what this is. 

Desdre never had the intentions to tell you anything. 

And this was an ambush. 

You fire your blaster a few more times, hitting Desdre in the leg and another shot going through the chest of a half-naked humanoid that you can barely make out from your blurred vision before it’s knocked out of your hand. You lash out, your fist catching the jaw of some other poor soul, sending them flying back and taking two more down with them. Your vambrace shoots out a medshot, knocking the Twi’lek he was kissing before out, and your grappling line tangles around their ankle. Yanking on it, another harem girl stumbles over them. 

A staff knocks you over the head, increasing the ringing that’s building up in your ears. You whip around to see Mando shoot them with his own blaster, their body falling limp at your feet. He’s got blood smeared on his chestplate as he fights around the small room. It’s too cramped and too risky to use his amban rifle, but overall, most of the attackers are already dead or knocked out, too drugged up and sluggish to take down two Mandalorians. A tap on your shoulder distracts you. You turn around, fists raised, but a sharp pain twinges in your neck. It’s Pretre, and the gold paint in around his eyes sparkles as you raise a hand and pull out a syringe. Your chest feels tight as you drop it. It shatters on the ground, red liquid seeping out and soaking into the carpet. 

“I forgot that your helmet filters,” he says. Pretre’s voice sounds slow and deep as the room starts to tilt. “I was wondering why it took so long for this to happen. Luckily I had this. My brother is too incompetent. Ah, well, hindsight, you know?” A smile plays on his lips, and you wonder why you hadn’t seen the resemblance before. A wave of pleasure rides over you, but then it starts dragging you down, making your eyelids heavy.

“You… what?” you ask stupidly. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and fire is dancing across your skin. “What did you…?” Everything’s muffled. He puts a hand on your chest and gives the gentlest of pushes, but it topples you over as you collapse on the ground. He stands over you, a pitying smile on his face, showing the barest of white teeth. You vaguely register Mando’s voice calling out to you, but it’s cut off and there’s more blaster fire. 

“I do hope I didn’t give you too much,” Pretre sighs. He bends down and crouches next to you, running a single finger down the length of your helmet, dragging a finger across your neck, nails digging in. “Oh dear. Maybe just a smidge too much… Just ride it out, and you’ll be fine.” He hooks a finger under your helmet, and you cry out weakly, but you’re arms are too heavy and your mind is too light to stop him. Just as he finds the button to release your helmet, something catches his attention. His head snaps up and he pulls away. “Next time,” he promises, “and my offer still stands.” He leaves you on the floor, and your vision is swimming, the ceiling and tapestries on the wall swirling together as you feel sweat dripping down your neck. Whatever Pretre put in you was making you burn up and feel sickly. You hear panting next to your ear. You turn your head--

\-- and there’s a strill snarling in your face. 

You reel back, away from its dripping jowls as it pads closer to you. It bays at your sudden reaction, and more hounds appear, surrounding you as you gasp in shallow breaths and scramble away, tripping over bodies and pillows in your effort to get away. They follow you, eyes red and glowing as they bare their sharp teeth at you. Their claws are tearing up the carpet underneath them. The strills come closer and closer, but your back is already up against the wall, and your blaster is too far out of your reach. The one in the front, the biggest and angriest of the pack, goes right to your face, nose touching your helmet, and you close your eyes and curl into yourself as howling echoes in your ears. 

“Dog!” 

Your head snaps up. The hounds are gone, and Mando is hovering over you. He holds out your blaster for you to take. 

“We have to go,” he says, out of breath as he looks around. “That stupid kid who met us at the door- he took Desdre and left. We have to leave before more come.” You stare at him blankly. Where had the dogs gone? When you look, the carpet in front of you is intact and whole, and there’s no slobber. You slowly reach up to take the blaster, holding it in your hand. You pull yourself up, head swiveling as the howling picks up again. 

“Did you hear that?” you choke out. You wave the blaster wildly as you spin to try and find the source. 

“Hey, calm down--” You jerk back as his hand rests on your shoulder. His voice is loud and booming in your ears. Spots dance in your vision as Mando grabs your hand and tugs you along, through the curtains, through the now-empty room, and into the alley ways of Canto Bight. The lights are bright and sends piercing pains up your head as you stumble along. 

“Mando,” you gasp out. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your feet under you. You think you hear dogs running behind you, but every glance back comes up empty. 

“What?” he grunts, pulling you into another winding backstreet. Bile rises up in your throat with each yank. 

“Mando,” you call out again. There are phantom hands against your throat and you can’t breathe. “ _Mando_.” He finally stops and pulls you into an alcove. 

“What? What’s wrong?” he hisses, and then he takes in you heaving shoulders, your choked out pleas, and hold your head in his hands. He calls your name, your real name, soft and pleading, and that’s when it peaks. 

You faintly register how your eyes roll to the back of your head and you collapse like a puppet with its strings cut, Mando just barely managing to catch you before you can hit your head. But his hands add on to your discomfort as it feels like there are thousands upon thousands of hand pulling, tugging, and scratching you, around your throat and holding your arms and legs down. A panic swells in you and you struggle to get away and push the hands off you. It’s smothering, the suffocation in your lungs and your head making you dizzy. It feels like they’re trying to pry your helmet off, but as you go through the streets of Canto Bight, jostling in someone’s arms, you realize it feels like they’re trying to rip your head from your shoulders and tear you limb from limb.

You think you hear screaming, and as more and more things come into focus, you realize it’s you. You shoot up from your cot, gasping and Mando shushes you and calms you down. You flail around, trying to make sense of things. 

You can breath, finally, as the recycled air of the _Razor Crest_ buzzes over you. And you realize it’s light outside. 

“How long--”

“Just a day,” Mando answers, and he sounds exhausted. You wonder if he stayed up to make sure you were okay. “What happened?”

“Drugged,” you say. “I… I don’t know what it was.”

“You were freaking out,” he starts, “horribly. You were screaming and trying to claw your own skin off, talking about dogs and strills.” He eyes you warily, taking in your hunched stance and bouncing knees. “You wanna talk about it?”

And although you know you should, that those hallucinations are fresh and feels as real as memories, the words die in your throat as you clam up. “I can’t,” you admit. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t trust you, I just--” Mando abruptly stands up. 

“It’s fine,” he says, but his tone is short and you can tell he’s irritated. “I’ve located the last of the bounties. We’ll be there in a few hours.” He leaves to go back up the cockpit and you tamp down the urge to bang your head against the wall. The emotional stalemate is driving you up the wall. You can’t understand why Mando is upset you can’t confide in him when he himself is the most closed off person you’ve ever met. If anything, you’ve given him more than he has. After a moment, you go meet up with him. 

You see a red liquid shimmering in a vial in his pocket. He follows your gaze to see what you’re staring at, and he pulls it out and hands it to you. “Mnemiotic drug,” he says. “Imps used it all the time. That’s what they gave you. Modified, but the base is the same. Hallucinations, raised body temperature, heightened aggression, increased sensitivity. Brain damage in extreme cases.”

“What happened to Pretre and Desdre?” you ask him. He doesn’t need to describe the effects if you’ve lived through them. 

“They got what they deserved,” he says, and leaves it at that. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mando forces you to talk to him about the past few days, and as a result, your souls are laid bare for a moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like you guys are owed some fluff so… here it is!

You’re distracted. More so than usual. 

Mando has gotten annoyed at having to call you moniker several times before you snap out of your daze. While he can’t see your face, he knows you probably have a glazed look in your eyes, unseeing as you stare off into space. 

Literally. 

He starts to think that you’re dead when he calls you a record five times before you jerk awake with a shout, your head bobbing down and back up. Just sleeping, then. 

“What?” you breath. He sighs. 

“I asked if you wanted to refuel and eat before we head to Atris,” he repeats bluntly. “It’s not where the bounty we’re looking for is, but it’s on the way.” You stare at him blankly before you remember you’re supposed to respond. You nod your head. 

“Sure,” you say. Your breaths are shaky. Mando looks at you pointedly. “What?”

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?” he asks. You rack your brain, then open your mouth to answer. “Canto Bight doesn’t count.” You snap your mouth shut. You think harder, but you’re not sure you want to answer his question anymore. “Dog,” he says with a warning voice. 

“The night before we picked up our bounties,” you admit. 

“That was _four_ days ago,” he cries out. You purse your lips. “Why don’t you sleep?” he asks. Mando swivels his chair to face you. “Don’t think about lying to me. You owe me that much.” Although his words alone sound condescending, his voice is soft, akin to when he had called your name on the streets of Canto Bight before you had gone into delirium. You break. 

“I’m scared.” You hope to whatever higher power was out there that he didn’t think you were a coward, but it was true. Every time you had closed your eyes, there were visions of death and dogs. The blaster fire and plasma strong in your nose, the heavy weight of Mando’s head in your hands, and the snarling strills nipping at your heels. You wonder if it was possible to be traumatized from nighttime terrors. You would’ve happy to leave it at that, keep your vices and fears close to your heart where you’ll never let them see the light of day, but Mando pries with gentle hands. 

“Of what?” he asks gently. 

“Of sleep.” 

“Bad dreams?” he guesses. You nod. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” you say quickly. “But they’ve been… unsettling,” you add on. “Visions of death, mostly. Memories that are warped. And with the things I saw when I was drugged…” you trail off, a cold shudder working its way up your spine as you think about claws and teeth. “They’re bad. Worse now.” You clench your fist. “I know they’re not real, don’t get me wrong. But they feel real, like it could happen at any time, and- and I--” You stop talking, huffing as a lump forms in your throat. Talking was so _hard_. You’re frustrated at yourself. “I just, ugh- I’m trying to- I’m scared of--” A sob escapes you and you clench your teeth together to stop any more sounds from coming out. You angrily hit your leg with your fist and hot tears form in your eyes. “This is so stupid,” you mutter. You get up to leave. “Forget I said anything.” As you turn to go, Mando’s gloved hand reaches and grabs your wrist.

“No,” he says. “I--” He clears his throat and pulls you back down to your seat. As he does, he trails his hand down to hold yours. It’s awkward; he has to figure how to lace his hands against yours, but it’s nice. You can feel the warmth of his skin through his glove, even more so when he brings his other hand to join. “I get it,” he says after a tender moment. “This line of work, it’s hard. Dangerous. Something could always happen.” He quirks his head. “Something always happens to you, it seems like.” You huff out a laugh and turn your head away. It’s true. It seems like since you’ve started working together, you’ve been in harm’s way more than him. “But, I will admit,” he says slowly, “you scared me. Back on Canto Bight.” His grip tightens. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but--” His voice catches, and you find yourself inexplicably wishing you could see his face. “-- but it was… difficult for me. To watch you tearing yourself apart. I couldn’t- I didn’t know what was happening. I was just so focused on getting us out of there. When you collapsed, calling for me, my heart,” he continues, “just stopped.” He shakes his head as if to clear some horrible thought.

“Careful, Mando,” you choke out, voice thick with some emotion you can’t quite put a name to. “People might start to think you care about me.” He laughs. It’s rich and deep and from his chest as he gently runs a thumb over the top of your hand. 

“Yeah?” he says, almost to himself as his voice is so soft that you strain to listen. His gaze drifts down to watch where your fingers are entangled with his, wrapped so tightly it’s hard to tell your glove from his. “Let them think what they will.” Your heart stutters at how determined he sounds. This is nice, you think, how the starlight trickles in and the lights and buttons reflect off of both of your armor. You don’t know how long you and Mando have been staring at where your hands are holding before he pipes up. 

“You should rest. I’ll find another place to refuel so you have time to sleep,” he says. He pulls his hands away, and a panic starts in you at the thought of sleeping again. “I’ll be here when you wake up, and I’ll be here if you have nightmares again.” You want to believe him, you do. That he will chase away those bad dreams as if you were some child, that he’ll make sure you’re safe and cared for that you don’t have to dream of snarling dogs and rolling heads. 

So you do. You chose to believe him as you descend the ladder and settle into your cramped cot, sleep pulling at your eyelids with the hum of the engines. Your stomach is doing flips, like when you were free-falling through the air on that rocky moon.

A sudden thought goes through you as you stare up at the ceiling of the _Razor Crest_. You haven’t seen the _riduurok_ amulet since you’ve thrown it on the ground. But exhaustion washes over you, and you fall asleep and forget about it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you go around the galaxy collecting your bounties, things are easier between you and Mando, but there’s some kind of uncertainty that swells about the nature of your relationship. Greef Karga calls you out on it as well.

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up, but this is the first time in a while that you’ve let yourself slowly get up from sleep instead of waking up disoriented, so you savor it. You had fallen asleep so fast in all your armor that your neck is sore, but you feel more alert than you have in days. It’s not just your body that feels relieved. Your mind is lighter without having your fears locked up inside you. 

The _Razor Crest_ is no longer up in the air, and the engines are off. You sit up, stretching and groaning when your spine lets out a satisfying series of cracks and pops. 

“Sleep well?” comes Mando’s voice. His head pops up from the top of the ladder leading up to the cockpit. “You woke up just in time. We’ve landed on Atris.” He climbs down the ladder and throws you a packet of pills. You read the label. “I couldn’t find any rations, but I managed to scrounge up some vita-caps and hydration tablets,” he explains. 

“These are expensive,” you say hesitantly. Vita-caps and hydration tablets were usually for emergency situations or last-ditch efforts, not because you were too lazy to find food. He shrugs. 

“And we’re about to get paid.”

\--

“I think it’s a crime that vita-caps taste so bad,” you note dryly. 

“You’re _still_ on that?” Mando asks. After you had swallowed down your meager breakfast, you two had made quick work of getting ready and debriefing each other about the bounty. It was some old droid that had gone rogue, but had valuable information that would’ve let some people in very high places know about some behind-the-scenes romping that went on. This one was an easy job that made a decent amount of money. The conversation between you two had flowed smoothly, your good mood uplifting Mando’s. But the muggy, humid air of Atris has started to sour it.

Mando swats at a cloud of insects as he pushes past the brush, and you pull your boot from the sinking mud of the undergrowth.

“Yes, I’m still on that!” you huff. “Could you imagine that you’re starving, desperate for any kind of food, and your only option is a pill that tastes like the way coarse sand feels?” Mando groans, but it’s half-hearted and obviously for show.

“If I’m starving,” he says, “I would be grateful that I won’t die. No matter how bad it tastes.”

You scoff. “I refuse to believe that you would do that. You complain the most! Next to me, of course, but I--”

He shushes you and halts when he hears a rustle. After a moment, it rustles again, this time accompanied by the squeaking of hinges. You look at Mando, and Mando looks at you, and then you both raise your vambraces and shoot out your grappling hooks. A disgruntled, robotic shout scares birds from the treeline, and more complaints start when you two start reeling the protocol droid in. “That was very unnecessary! Honestly, bounty hunters are so rude.”

“Well, that was easy,” Mando says. He nudges the droid with his boot, distaste seeping into his tone. “We didn’t even have to get to town to find it.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” it says mildly. It doesn’t even try to resist you as you haul it up and point you electrostaff at him. 

“You’re right,” Mando responds. “We don’t.” But he slaps a pair of cuffs on him and nudges him back the way you came. You don’t think the cuffs are needed for a droid that was meant for translation and communication, but you have a hatred for droids anyways, and you take some kind of sick pleasure in watching it try to keep balance without the use of its hands as it treks through the soft earth. Mando turns to you and picks up the conversation right where you left off. “But I do agree with you that they aren’t the best tasting.”

“Thank you!”

The protocol droid is confused. 

\--

“Good thing that took like, what, two hours max?” you ask him. You go through the main processor of the protocol droid and deactivate it before stuffing it in a random cabinet somewhere. It’s clunky and you hope that hadn’t crushed anything important. There was no use in wasting carbonite on him, and honestly you don’t even know if you could safely do that. “You know where that gang member is? Carluis?” Anxiety starts creeping up on you at the memory of Desdre betraying you, of Pretre drugging you up, but you stamp it down before it can creep up _too_ far. 

“I managed to track him down,” Mando says. He scrapes the mud off his boots with his vibroblade. “Bastard isn’t even trying to lie low. Apparently, he’s taken over a small fishing village in past the asteroid belt in the Aegis Prime system.” 

“A fishing village?” you repeat. “Why? Wasn’t he some big shot spice runner for that little gang he was in?” You take off your cape and finger the frayed and fried hem, but ultimately fold it back up and place it on top of your threadbare blanket. You’ve thought about splurging and buying a cape that was fireproof, but you had decided you liked the burnt look. Made you look roguish. 

“Key word being _was_ ,” Mando grunts, switching legs to dig out mud from his other boot. “I think he’s gone crazy from withdrawals. Took it out on the nearest community.” You hum. 

“So when you say ‘taken over’--”

“He’s basically having his own little dictator moment,” he supplies. “So we get in there, cuff him, stick him in carbonite, and hopefully we’ll be on our merry way to the text target. Freeing the village is just a bonus.”

\--

Things are never as easy as you wished they were. 

You and Mando had decided to be stealthy and let the village know you were there to help, but it had looked like they had seen your armor and your weapons and started screaming their heads off, ignoring how Mando had hissed reassurances, thinking that you were also coming to kill them. It also looked like Carluis had time to prepare. 

“Kriff off!” Carluis screams, and throws a spear at you that you smoothly step out of the way for, but you have to jump out of the way for the makeshift flamethrower he’s made. And now half of the village is on fire. Because the buildings were made from reeds and wood, the flames leap from hut to hut, eating up a path. Mando has been tasked with evacuating the villagers. He’s ushering people into the treeline, going into burning buildings to try and salvage the most important items, but otherwise yelling at people to leave it behind. That leaves you to deal with the maniac. At this point, he’s screaming incomprehensibly, something about prison and traitor whores.

Most of his body is covered with salvaged metal and some kind of leather, so your medshots are essentially useless unless you can get close enough to exposed skin. With the chaos going around you, you really don’t want to spread the fire any further with your own flamethrower, and people were still running around you, making it too risky to use your blaster. 

It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to use your electrostaff. 

You sling it off your shoulder and into your hands and activate it, the cold crackle of electricity making the air around you tingle as purple light joins the reflection of the fires. Carluis must recognize that you mean business when his lip curls into a snarl and aims his flamethrower at you. Before he can shoot it, you send out your grappling line, and it catches, and you sharply tug, throwing off his aim so that flame licks at the already-burnt grass at his feet. 

“Mando!” he howls, and grabs a stray spear with his free hand to cut the line. 

“Nope!” you call out, flourishing your staff. You aren’t normally one to talk during a fight, to talk at all, really, but you’re having fun. Besides, taunting him would only give you more of an advantage. “I’m the other one.” You lunge forward, the tip of your staff crackling as you sweep his feet from under him. He jabs blindly as he goes down, but it bounces off your vambrace and out of his grip. Carluis rolls away, scrambling to get up and away from you, but you’ve shocked his legs and they’re weak. You _stroll_ after him, adrenaline pumping through your veins. He’s quick to give up, the fight leaving him as all he focuses on is surviving. He bulldozes through the random debris, but fires he’s started trap him in the center of the village.

\--

Mando is done with evacuating the village, who are now hiding in a small clearing, and rushes to find you. He knows the village is done for. Whatever fuel Carluis had used wasn’t burning out fast enough, but luckily, the trees are out of their range. He follows the screaming into the village center, where you’re dancing around him as he swipes at you with a small carving blade. He’s wondering if you’re hurt, and he hopes not, but he knows your penchant for getting hurt, but you’re still agile, and if he tunes out the roaring of flames and the cursing of your bounty, he hears you _giggle_. You’re playing with Carluis, he realizes, and although he’s not the one to waste time and is all for efficiency, this is the first he’s seen you really enjoy yourself. So he stands back and watches. 

Mando wonders if you’ve always been like this. Toying with your prey and poking and prodding to aggravate them instead of keeping up a stoic facade to maintain professionalism as you struggle to survive. But that isn’t to say there’s no method to your game. Carluis is a big man, and that’s not including his defensive gear, all hard muscle and protective fat, and he’s got a good foot on you. Even for Mando, dragging him back to the ship would be a difficult feat. You’re tiring him out, using his size to your advantage as you force him to move to keep up, shocking him once in a while to make sure he doesn’t just give up and start running. Eventually, you dig your staff into his side, shocking him for a good three seconds before he falls, limbs shaking. 

You hold the staff under his chin, dangerously close as a warning, and kick the flamethrower far out of his reach. You scan him for any more weapons. Mando walks up behind you and throws a pair of cuffs at him. 

“Cuff yourself,” he says, and then to you, “Good hunting.” Carluis scowls, but puts on the cuffs anyways, and you haul him to his feet. “But refrain from playing with your food, hm?”

\--

Although Carluis had put up a fight again when you forced him into the carbonite chamber, you had tased him just as Mando had pressed the button, willing him into submission for long enough to freeze him. It’s so much easier to work with someone else, especially when you work well with Mando. 

“Next stop?” you ask him. When you turn to look, his hand is halfway in the air like he was grabbing for something or reaching for you. You look behind you to see what he might’ve been aiming for. “What are you--”

“Sorry,” Mando says, “there’s, um, well--” He drops his hand and it swings by his side. He’s flustered and it’s cute how he’s stumbling over his words. “You had, um, ash. On your helmet.” He motions to your head. “Like right, um.” You awkwardly swipe at your helmet. “No, let me- let me just…” You tense up as Mando wipes it off of your helmet.

“Uh. Thanks.” You stare at each for a second before Mando turns away and goes up the ladder. 

“We’re going to Ajan Kloss!” he calls down. 

Ah that’s right. You have four more bounties to get. 

\--

It’s almost laughable how easily you and Mando were good at not talking about things. But you are too preoccupied with trying to ignore how the humidity of the jungle moon was making you sweat to ask him what the kriff happened back on the ship.

“I hate the jungle,” Mando finally complains. “It’s too humid, and there are bugs everywhere.”

“So you admit it,” you grunt out. You swear that a fern or something had just moved on its own, but you’re too busy trying to discreetly wipe away the sweat around your neck. This was such a downside to the Mandalorian life. Why did bounties always go somewhere awful? Couldn’t they go somewhere nice and preferably climate-controlled? Is that too much to ask? It’s always too hot or too cold or not enough air or, Maker save you, _lava_.

“That I hate the heat? Yes.”

“No. That you complain a lot.” Mando swats at you, and you laugh. Conversation flows so easy between you now, the back and forth banter natural and easy. When you go to retaliate, he’s suddenly gone, your hand going through air where had attempted to playfully jab him. “What the--” Mando’s yelling catches your attention. He’s being dragged away, some vines wrapped around his legs as he claws for purchase, branches snapping. 

“Mando!” You immediately chase after him, pulling out your staff as you struggle to keep up. Whatever this plant was, it seemed to have tracked you for a while, the vines slithering back the way you came. You speed up, staff crackling, as you jab it towards the thickest vine. An awful squeal pierces the air, but it lets Mando go and goes up some tree. You catch bend over to catch your breath as Mando groans and flips himself on his back. You stifle a laugh. He’s covered in dirt and grass and what you hope is mud, but you did see a large animal some ways back. 

“I’m okay,” he grumbles. “Thanks for asking.” Mando gets up and tries his best to clean himself up, but he just ends up smearing it around. You tuck your staff away, and use the end of your cape to wipe off his visor so that at least he can see. Before you can think about it, you affectionately pat his helmet before you once again being your trek to the last known location of your bounty.

Luckily the bounty, a female Ootoolan, was half-starved and came without any issue, although the heat ended up being too much for her, so you hauled her over your shoulder back to the _Razor Crest_. On your way there, however, another figure jumped out of the brush, waving a crude sword and babbling in some alien language and pointing to the figure on your shoulder. When you squint, you recognize him as the Devronian that was also, conveniently, part of your list of bounties. You shoot two medshots at him, accounting for weight and height, and he goes down quickly.

The look you give Mando clearly says that you expect him to carry him. 

Four down, two more to go. 

\--

It’s almost suspicious how easy it was to get all of your bounties, even the other pair that was trying to outrun the _Razor Crest_ on foot, that even Mando is a little on guard. But you aren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you just attribute it to a stroke of good luck and move on. It’s not until Mando lands down on Nevarro that he finally relaxes. They’re quick to start unloading all of the carbonite slabs off of the ship and the singular droid as you and Mando enter the cantina. Greef Karga greets you warmly.

“Mando and his Hound!” he boasts. “You’ve made quick work! I’m impressed.” Your eye twitches when he refers to you as _Mando’s_ , but you stay silent and slide into the booth, throwing the tracking fobs onto the table. Mando sits next to you, and although he sits a respectful distance from you, his knee leans against yours hesitantly, waiting for you to pull away, but instead you press back. People are whispering about you again, glaring at you in distaste. Probably because you two had taken most of the pucks. 

“Easy,” Mando says smoothly. “Almost suspiciously so.” Karga laughs. 

“Of course it was easy!” he says, fake surprise lacing his tone. He leans in close. “Two Mandalorians? Especially of your caliber and reputation? It’s no wonder it was easy.” He slaps the table. 

“Our payment?” Mando asks. Karga digs into his pockets and pulls out credits, counting them out and sliding it over to you. Mando takes them and tucks them into his bag, intent on counting them out later away from Karga’s eyes. You watch with furrowed eyebrows as Mando moves to leave. 

“Aren’t you going to ask for more bounties?” Karga asks, speaking your mind. “I’ve got plenty that I’m sure will catch your eye.” Mando shakes his head. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving the guild?”

“I’m not,” Mando says stiffly. “And before you ask, neither is Dog.” Maybe you’re destined to always be confused whenever you’re in the same room as Greef Karga because Mando definitely did not talk to you about this. As far as you were concerned, you thought that you would continue the same song and dance of chasing bounty after bounty until one of you bit the dust or Mando got tired of keeping you around. Karga stares at Mando, then you, then back at Mando with an unreadable expression. 

“Vacation, Mando?” he asks. Mando tenses. 

“Just a break,” he corrects stiffly. “No questions, remember? C’mon, Dog.” You slide out of the booth with one last look at Greef Karga. 

“Attachments are dangerous, Mando,” Greef Karga warns cooly. “Especially in this line of work. Don’t compromise yourself.” Attachments? What was he talking about? But Mando leaves before you can give him a questioning look, and you have no choice but to follow after him. 

When you get to the ship, you finally speak up, “Why didn’t we take any pucks?” you ask quietly. Mando hands you your share of the credits as he talks. You tuck them away without counting. You trust Mando to give you a fair share.

“I told you, we need to pick up some supplies and get some more stuff before we go out--”

“That’s what you told _Karga_ ,” you interrupt. “We aren’t low on anything. Sure, we can refuel and get more supplies, but we usually take pucks anyways.” You cross your arms and stand in his way so that he can’t move past you. “Is it that attachment he mentioned? If you have, like, a secret family that I don’t know about, that’s fine and all, but just don’t lie to me--”

“No, it’s not that. What are you-- Why would I even have a secret family? I don’t--” Mando cuts himself off with a sigh and puts his hands on his belt and leans against the wall of the _Razor Crest_. “It’s just… We’ve been working non-stop,” he says carefully. He’s thinking about his words. “And while I wouldn’t mind taking on more bounties, I’ve never worked with another hunter this long before.” You tilt your head and motion for him to continue. “So I thought- What I’m trying to say is that I think- Well, actually maybe I should’ve asked you about this--” You spare him. 

“You want to take a vacation,” you say for him. You shrug. “That’s fine.” Mando watches you as you start gathering your stuff and folding it to put into your bag later. “You should’ve just told me.” You start making a list in your head. You’ve been sharing rations with Mando, but you were out, so that means that you need to get more with the money you got from the bounties, you can afford to get some more and maybe catch a ship out of Nevarro back to your usual Guild hideout. Or maybe Mando would be nice enough to drop you off. You hope that the good parts of the rumors that’s been circulating about you have reached there by now. That would help with work. “Would it be possible for you to drop me off on in the Yavin system?” you ask him. 

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t have a ship, so I was wondering if--”

“Where are you going?” You blink up at him. 

“Um, you said you wanted a break, right? So I’m… leaving?” Mando stays silent, and you start to get flustered. “Um, it’s okay, I’m sure I can get a--”

“No! That’s not what I meant,” Mando says, laughing nervously, but he gathers himself and clears his throat. 

You bristle. “Well if you think I’m just going to wait here for you to get back, you’ve got another thing coming--”

“I want you to come with me,” Mando finally explains, and you nearly drop your bag. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he starts. “But I was thinking about how, uh, hard you work and, um,” he’s losing steam as he keeps talking. “I guess I forgot to ask if you even wanted to come with, but I actually do need to get some supplies for the ship, and I thought it’d be nice if, you know, uh, came with and, wow okay I did not think this through--”

“Okay.”

“What?” You drop your bag back on your cot. 

“Okay,” you repeated.

“‘Okay’ as in I did not think this through or--”

“‘Okay’,” you stress, “as in I’ll come with you. But also yes, you did not think this through.” You smile, and you know Mando is too. You’ll forgive him this time. Besides, you like it when he rambles. 

Maker knows he rambles on enough for the both of you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was a little boring in terms of plot, but I took this chapter as a time to really develop their growing relationship a little further in an almost mundane way because let’s face it, taking care of each other’s wounds? Carrying them through the streets while they’re unconscious? That’s like. Tier 5 in terms of relationships I’m pretty sure, and they skipped all of that so…. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You stop by to meet the other Mandalorians that live under the city before you head out. 

“Actually,” Mando says, “can we stop by somewhere?” You tilt your head. 

“Of course,” you answer. Why would he need your permission to go somewhere? He fidgets. 

“Come with me.” With that, he grabs the pouch where he puts his credits, and counts some out and puts it in his bag. He leads you off the ship and back into the city where the cantina is. He winds through the streets and through back alleys before he settles on a dilapidated building. He goes straight to the back, walking towards a large grate of sorts, and lifts it, motioning for you to go down. 

It’s dark, at first, but as you go down the stairs you recognize it. A mythosaur skull marking the entrance. This is a Mandalorian hideout. 

A sudden case of the nerves hits you as when you realize; your hands shake. Mando led you straight to a hideout. _His_ hideout, considering how he confidently strolls in, closing the entrance behind you. As you and Mando get to the bottom of the stairs, the quiet chatter that’s been filling the air stops. 

And weapons are raised. 

“Wait!” Mando calls sharply, holding his hands out and standing in front of you. “She’s a friend.” The weapons lower, but everyone is still tense. 

“Why would bring an outsider?” one demands. He’s tall. Taller than Mando, and broader too. As he stalks closer, you see how his hand is hovering over the blaster on his hip. You clench your jaw as he peers over Mando’s shoulder. “Step forward,” he commands, “and show yourself.” Although you hate it when people order you around, what he said was true. You are an outsider. So you comply and step out from behind Mando. “Who are you?” he asks. 

“Dog,” you answer, and the Mandalorian in front of you laughs. Others join, and it echoes in the empty tunnel.

“Dog?” he repeats. 

“Yes,” you say plainly. 

“What clan?” he asks. He steps forward and you have to crane your head up to look at him in the eyes. You clench your fists. 

“I don’t have one.” 

“Sect?”

“None.”

“Then where is your group located, _Dog_?” he sneers. You falter. Did he know you had no one until Mando? It’s weird he’s even asking you. The hideout of other Mandalorians are kept secret so that they do not endanger them even more.

“I-- I don’t have one,” you admit, voice trailing off softly at the end. “Mando is… He’s the first Mandalorian I’ve seen since-- He’s the first one I’ve seen in _years_.” The air changes in the sewers. The other Mandalores are looking at your curiously, some with pity. You know exactly why. Mandalorian culture is one that is, in itself, a community. “My group, they… They’re…” Everyone is watching you closely, waiting for you to continue, and you can feel Mando’s gaze burn into the back of your head. You’ve never told him this. You’ve never even alluded to your own little group, and this was why. A lone Mandalore can only be so for a handful of reasons: they were exiled, they’ve broken the code, or the community was--

“Dead.” 

A ripple goes through the group. “Dead or missing, I don’t know. Imperial Loyalists found us out. The only reason I survived was--” You voice catches. Shit, you’ve said too much and there was no backing out of this. 

“It doesn’t matter,” a new voice calls out. A figure steps out from a side room. Their helmet is different, horns on the top, and she wears some sort of fur cloak on her shoulders. The tools she holds in her hands indicate she was an Armorer, and the regalia insinuated she was the leader of this group. “Did you endanger your fellow Mandalores in any way?” she asks. 

“No.”

“Has the thought ever crossed your mind?

“Never.” 

“Then I see no issue.” You think she’ll leave it at that, and you’ll go on your merry way, but she speaks again “You will be one of us,” she declares with authority. Whispers erupt, some of disdain, some of questioning, but none directly speaks up to confront her. “With the way things are now, how scattered the Mandalores are, we must look out for each other,” the Armorer continues. Her voice is smooth and strong, unquestionable. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” everyone echoes, your small voice joining, drowned out by everyone else. 

“Come,” she orders. You glance back at Mando, but turn back before you can see what he does. You step around the Mandalore in front of you, and follow her into the side room where she came from. As you do, a handful of other Mandalorians crowd around your Mando. 

“What is your name?” the Armorer asks. She sits down across from you, hands in her lap. 

“Dog.”

“Is that your real name?”

“No,” you admit. But you tell her your real name before she even asks for it. She’s compelling in some sort of strange way. 

“I see. What happened to your group?” she asks. 

\--

_“Imperials!”_

_The abandoned warehouse in the packing district of the city breaks into chaos. Immediately, blaster fire fills the air, snagging on of the elder ones, Kayakel, in the shoulder, as he commands everyone to get the foundlings out. Mandalores pull out the weapons, and they kill the first charge, but judging by the increasingly louder and louder shouts and sounds of speeder bikes, there’s more coming._

_“Get out,” Kayakel commands, pushing you towards the escape with the other foundlings._

_“Kayakel, wait, I can help!” you protest. He shakes his head and holds your helmet in his hands, speaking firmly. Shouts are ringing through the air, but you can pick out his voice easily._

_“I know, but you must protect the others with Mica,” he says. “Foundlings are the future.. We will not the Imperials get their hands on them.”_

_“But I won’t leave you,” you shout. He was the one that had carried you out from that hellhole of your planet, where your family had died and where you had found a new one. Even when the Death Watch splintered into smaller fragments, he took you with him, determined to see his foundling’s training to completion. He was the one to say your rites to you, and the one who oversaw you when you swore the creed. Kayakel was family._

_“You must,” he says firmly. “This is the Way.”_

_Tears prick in your eyes._

_“This is the Way.”_

_Kayakel puts his helmet against yours in a Keldabe kiss. “Be brave, pup,” he whispers, and pushes you to the exit where Mica is urging you to leave. You trip as a shot lands near your feet, but you scramble back up as fast as you can._

_You usher the foundlings out, shushing them and soothing them as you go through the tall grass to the ship that had been sitting in the fields for years. You had to try and get it to work. Mica is holding a young boy in his arms as he sprints to the ship._

_“Over there!”_

_You whip around to see that there were Stormtroopers that had spotted you leave. You make a choice._

_“Go!” you command Mica._

_“No, we can both leave--”_

_“We won’t make it,” you say sharply. “They’ll shoot it down. Take the children, and go.” Mica looks like he wants to say something, but nods and turns to continue his escape, scooping up another child as he goes. The older kids hug you briefly before taking the younger ones and leaving as well. You pull your blaster out and shoot the one that had called your out, knocking him back. You run away from the direction Mica had left, shooting behind you as you go._

_“This way!”_

_You loop back around to the warehouse. If you were going to save the foundlings, you might as well try to save the others._

_Just as you start to leave the tall grass, the warehouse explodes, and knocks you out._

_\--_

_When you come to, it’s dark, and the fires of the warehouse have burnt down to cinders. Your head is aching, body sore from behind tossed back._

_“No,” you breath. You stumble towards the warehouse, stepping over the bodies of dead stormtroopers as you start sobbing._

_Kayakel’s burnt body lies in the middle of the ash._

_This was one of the contingency plans. One would lure the enemy in, and blow up the warehouse, using the fuses that laced the foundation. But judging by the other Mandalores strewn about, more than one casualty happened._

_And it takes you days to bury them all._

\--

“And this is why you were reluctant to join another group,” the Armorer concludes. “And that is why your armor is… compromised.” You flush under your helmet. Whether from her statement or the flood of survivor’s guilt, you’re not quite sure. She stands up and goes to her tools. “While I cannot spare you enough beskar to start over,” she says, “I can add to your arsenal.” 

“Wait,” you protest. “Don’t- Don’t use beskar on me, I--”

“Nonsense,” she says. “It won’t take long. Give me your vambraces.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. You slide off your bracers, and hand them over to the Armorer, who examines them. “Medshots,” she notes. “Interesting. You seem to have more of a defensive arsenal.” She places them to the side and pulls up blueprints, going through them until she lands on something that catches her eyes. “How do repulsors sound?” Your mouth goes dry, so all you can do is nod and croak out,

“Thank you.”

Mando walks into the room, huffing. Looks like the Mandalorians were grilling him, but he managed to get away. He takes a seat next to you, and watches the Armorer as she melts down some beskar. He doesn’t say anything, but looks at you as you gaze into the fire, mesmerized. Just like that time in the cantina, he leans his leg against yours, but sits shoulder to shoulder. He curiously runs a finger down your exposed arm before pulling away. You can feel his body heat seeping through his armor.

Maybe you can afford to open your heart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this explains why Dog isn’t with the group on Nevarro with Mando! I don’t think that the people in the hideout are all of the Death Watch. 
> 
> Also I know it seems like Armorer Ex-Machina, but you saw how quick she was to say that the Child was a foundling at that Mando was a clan of two, so I’m assuming she strongly believes in community and looking out for the other, and sees it as a duty that Mandalores must follow. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you go on your intergalactic road trip, Mando stops at one last place that ruins the streak of good days you’ve been having.

The Armorer had told you that your repulsor was a last-ditch effort of protection because it used so much energy, and that it was rather volatile. 

Basically, she was telling you to use it sparingly and “not in here”.

Still, you had been ecstatic that you had gotten your first upgrade in years, and you wish you were better with words so that you can properly express your gratitude. But instead you settled for a firm nod as you try not to vibrate out of your armor. You suppose she understands your energy, as she laughs softly under your breath, barely audible, and turns back to put her tools away. 

Mando has to drag you away from the room where you had been stuck to floor admiring your new vambraces. They’re a little bulkier, definitely with more of a weight to them, shiny with the new plating. A faint blue light could be seen in the wiring if you tilt it just right. “C’mon,” he urges, and tilts his head towards the door. “We have things to do.” You practically trot after him, and you ignore how the other Mandalores are staring at your visibly happy mood. Whatever Mando had told him before he came to sit with you must’ve convinced them to get off your tail. He goes that same winding path out of the hide out again, carefully watching for anyone that could be spying, and heads his way back to the  _ Razor Crest _ . 

“Where to?” you chirp. Mando starts up the ship and sets a code on his navi. 

“How about Bardotta?” Bardotta was a small planet known for its art and culture, relatively isolated from politics, and out of the way for most people. It’s got weather on more cold, rainy side, and plenty of cover and high mountains if you needed it. You knew that Mando didn’t really need anything from there nor did he have any business to attend to.

In short, a perfect destination. 

\--

It was a perfect destination, at least, until one of the locals think that you’re there for them and starts blasting. Neither you or Mando want to engage, knowing that it’ll start some kind of riot, so you just slip away from the cantina you were resting in and counting up your credits, and go back to the ship. 

“That was rough,” Mando says mildly, and takes off his singed cape. 

“Good thing we bought another one,” you respond, and toss him the new fabric you had bought at the market before you were chased off. You slide into the pilot’s seat and power the ship up so that Mando can change, running through the list of steps in your head as you flick switches and press buttons. He had taught you how to fly it halfway through your trip to Bardotta when he saw how bored you were with staring out the windows. You had been reluctant at first. You weren’t really a pilot, and Mando was putting a lot of trust and faith in you when he insisted you take the wheel for a little bit while he rests. When you leave the atmosphere, you let it drift through space for a little bit, and head back down where Mando was folding his ruined cape up. He was in charge of your little intergalactic travels, and didn’t know where you were going next.

“I wasn’t expecting to replace it so soon,” he complains, but swings the new one around his shoulders and fastens it in one fluid motion. It looked almost exactly the same as his last one, but the way he put it on makes your heart stutter. 

You shake your head, in exasperation at him or your internal response, you’re not sure, and grab two rations from a storage cabinet and toss one to him. “Looks good at least,” you say, suddenly hot under the collar. 

“Yeah?” he hums, and grabs his canteen for the ration. You pick your own and start heading back up to the cockpit. This was routine for you. Whenever you would eat, you would head to different parts of the ship and call to the other person when you were done so that you knew when it was safe to meet up again. But Mando grabs your attention before you can leave. “Wait.” You pause and turn to face him questioningly. He freezes when you turn to look, as if he didn’t expect you to actually stop or he’s said that before he could stop himself. “Stay. We can eat together.” 

“Um… Did you hit your head?” you ask him, laughing nervously. “The creed says that--”

“No, I know the creed,” he says, “I just… Eat with me,” he finishes lamely. “We can work around it.” And then he’s fumbling to pull the covers off of his cot and lays it on the ground, smoothing it out as he motions for you to sit down. “We can sit back to back. We don’t have to see each other.” You gnaw at your bottom lip as you consider. This technically would be in line with the creed, since you wouldn’t be seeing each other’s faces, and although this was just the act of eating in the same room, a far cry from the way you’ve seen other couples sit next to each or across, but it still feels incredibly intimate. He’s already set up a mock space for you, so you scan the ship for any reflective surfaces. Not that you didn’t  _ trust  _ Mando, but just to be sure, but eventually lower yourself down and face away from him. You hear him sit down as well, as soon his back is touching yours. It’s a little uncomfortable since you both have your armor still on, but after some shifting, you find a suitable position. Your heart is pounding as you sit there, and you slip off your gloves and set them aside before putting your hands down next to you and bunch the covers in your fist. It shouldn’t be as nerve wracking as it is, but the thought of taking off your helmet, and Mando taking his off, and the fact that it would be so easy to just turn around makes you anxious. You jolt as Mando’s bare hand covers yours, prying your stiff fingers from the covers and holding it awkwardly; he must’ve sensed your apprehension. “You can back out any time,” he says, and you can tell he’s as nervous as you are. You take a deep breath, and slip your hand out of his, and release your helmet, taking it off slowly. Your ears prick up when you hear the hiss that indicated Mando’s helmet was off too, and you set it on the ground, making sure that all you can see is your own figure reflected in the metal. 

You vaguely wonder if Mando can feel your heart beating from where his back touches yours. 

You reach for your canteen again, and rehydrate your food, trying to ignore how your hands shake. You eat in silence for a little bit, listening to the white noise of the ship’s engine and Mando’s breathing. He’s the first to speak, unsurprisingly. 

“Are you- Is this… Is this okay?” he asks. His voice his low, so much that you have to strain to hear, but you think your ears are burning from how nice it sounds without the modulator. You heave a deep, content sigh, dragging air in, and you lean further back against him, tilting your head back until it rests where the back of his shoulders meet his neck, your food resting in your lap. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. You wonder what’s running through his mind, what he thinks of this moment of vulnerability, if he’s as shaken as you are, and whether if this is the first and last time you’ll do this. You hope not. This exact moment of time you want to commit to memory. Maybe not the stale taste of rations. You opt to replace that little detail with how warm his calloused hands felt when he held yours for a short moment. What you don’t know is that Mando thinks that maybe, after all this is over…

Maybe he wouldn’t mind being with you for the rest of time. 

\--

That’s been your life for a good week, jumping from star system to star system, flying down to planets that catch your eye every now and then, picking up supplies every now and then to keep up your guise of doing business. Not that anyone really asked you why you were leisurely going through markets. They were still rather scared of you both. But that let you relax during your travels, and you haven’t even thought about the nightmares that had plagued you weeks ago. The short break was doing Mando some good to; you could see the tension leave his shoulders as he bargains the prices of medical supplies in alien languages, and note how he hums some foreign tune as he flies the ship. 

Eating together becomes a daily thing, sitting back to back as the _ Razor Crest _ drifts through space, having mundane conversations because listening to each other’s voices without the barrier of a voice modulator is just… nice. It’s the closest either of you had been with each other, and with anyone, really. Neither of you want this to end. It was so routine and natural that at some point it’s an instinctive reaction.

But eventually, you and Mando had gotten absolutely everything you had needed, from a new cape from Mando from Bardotta to a new fuel pump for the  _ Razor Crest,  _ and so you couldn’t use the flimsy excuse of gathering supplies anymore. You had nearly exhausted your funds anyways, and you bet that Greef Karga was missing your wonderful presence. You snort. Yeah right. 

You lean back into your seat and watch Mando punch in the coordinates, but you frown when you don’t recognize the code for Nevarro. He must’ve sensed your confusion because he turns to you. 

“One last stop,” he says, and he sounds  _ nervous _ . 

“If you’re planning to kill me,” you say casually, “it won’t be easy. I will fight back.” But you’re joking and Mando pushes your chair so that you spin around. 

“If I had planned to kill you, you would already be dead,” he deadpans. You laugh and kick the back of his chair and settle in as he goes into hyperspace. 

“If you say so.”

The stars and planets seem to smear, bright lights flashing as Mando hums a nonsensical tune. 

“Where are we going?” you ask. His grip tightens. You narrow your eyes. Maybe he really  _ is  _ planning to kill you. Or strand you somewhere. Or both. He hesitates. 

“I want to show you something,” he says, dodging the question. But he leaves it at that, and you do to.

After some few minutes, he drops out of hyperspace and flies in to a grassy, green planet, and lands in a small clearing in the middle of the forest.

Something feels vaguely familiar as you walk out of the ship. You can’t quite place it, but you feel… anxious isn’t quite the word for it, but you feel uneasy as you try and rack your mind to see if you had been here before at some point. A bounty gone bad or some ambush? But it looks like any other temperate planet with forests, slightly cloudy with a breeze and unassuming. There’s nothing significant about this place, no landmarks, no predators from what you can tell that you need to keep an eye out for. Hell, you’ve never really noticed this planet on any star map before. Mando seems excited, however, and leads you through the forest for a few minutes before eventually coming to a clearing with abandoned buildings, run down with time and war. There are seperatist droids scattered all over, picked apart by scavengers or rusted with rain, and you see an odd grave or two. The feeling builds. 

“This was my village,” he says softly, voice full of emotion and looking around at the ruined buildings and scuffed earth where grass has started to grow again. “Before the Death Watch found me and took me in.” He wanders deeper into the village, and as you instinctively follow after him, you realize what that feeling is as you start to recognize the buildings. 

Dread. 

Your hands start shaking, and you suddenly can’t get enough air.

He looks like he’s walking aimlessly, but the path he takes is too straightforward to be that. He eventually leads you to a storage shed built into the ground, the metal doors blasted open and hanging at the hinges. “They picked me up here,” Mando says. “Flew me away using a jetpack.” He’s silent as he gazes into the hole. “I need one of those,” he says jokingly, but pauses when he sees how tensed you are, fists clenching and unclenching at your sides, staring without seeing, heaving in deep, shuddering breaths that do nothing to stop how lightheaded and nauseous you feel. He takes a step back. “I- I’m sorry if I overstepped any bounds,” he stammers. “I just-- I wanted you to know that you’re not… That your story isn’t… That I went through the same thing, and that I--” You don’t hear him. A high pitched whine builds in your ears and there’s a cold weight settling in your stomach and you feel bile rising up in your throat. 

( _ Blaster fire and screaming-- _ )

“Dog?”

( _ Wailing and emotionless droids-- _ )

“Dog, what’s wrong?”

( _ And now there’s warm blood spilling over your hands-- _ )

“Hey! What’s wrong?!”

( _ \-- Mando’s blood, but that’s not right. You’re watching as the Death Watch blasts away a droid and opens the doors, taking out two children-- _ )

“You need to talk to me, I don’t-- I don’t know what’s wrong!”

( _ \-- a girl swathed in red, crying and weeping, reaching towards a couple,  _ **_your_ ** _ parents, lying motionless on the ground-- _ )

“Please, I don’t-- I  _ can’t-- _ ”

( _ \-- and a boy, too far into shock to properly respond as he lets the Mandalorian take him away-- _ )

He calls your real name, alarmed and heavy with worry, and you can’t stop the tears that spill from your eyes, clouding your vision as you faintly register how you’ve collapsed on the ground, Mando clutching your upper arms to stop you from completely keeling over, kneeled in front of you, searching, scared at your unexplained response. His body language screams panic. You take in a deep breath that sounds like metal being ripped apart and look at him, and in the haze of dread and fear and anguish, one thought rings clear in your head, indisputable. 

“You’re Din Djarin.”

His heart stops. 

“You are, aren’t you?” you ask, and your voice is so shaky that his heart aches. “You’re the boy that was hiding with me.” But Mando only half-hears you as he replays the memory in his head, over and over again, scouring for any trace of you, anyone with your name, but that comes up is static. He doesn’t remember you when he was with the Death Watch either. He thinks harder still, desperate for any scrap of information or picture, and all he gets is a flash of a child’s face, terrified and smudged with dirt, and there’s no one it could be except you. 

(And there’s a brief moment as you both think about each other’s faces, and what you might look like now.)

“How do you know that?” Mando asks, voice hoarse. “How do you know that name?”  _ How do you know me? _ he wants to say instead. But he already knows the answer, and he  _ knows  _ that he’s known for weeks, but he’s buried it in layers of denial and trauma that it makes him sick to try and dig his buried revelation back out from where he was determined to make it so that it wouldn’t see the light of day ever again. 

You jerk back and push him off of you, scrambling up and running towards the treeline, and Mando’s blood runs cold as he thinks for a moment you’re leaving him, but he hears you dry heave into the bushes, letting out choked sobs every now and then, and it feels so wrong to say that he’s never been more relieved to hear your retching interrupting the fast pace of your feet hitting the ground. 

Mando stays still. Unmoving. Sitting in the dirt where you’ve pushed him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but when he snaps out of his daze, the sun is low in the sky, spilling bright indigos and pinks and purples and oranges across the sky, and his joints are aching from the lack of movement for so long. He stays there until you come back, and your knees are weak and helmet is back on. 

You’ve never been so glad for the mask. So that you can’t see his face and he can’t see yours, and it feels wrong that you’re looking  _ down  _ at him where he sits in the dirt. Your mind is whirling a million thoughts a minute, and any plan you had thought up while you had been kneeling in the dirt, stomach rolling, swiftly leave you. You try to blink the black spots out of your vision. 

“I understand if you don’t want to see me again,” you end up saying shakily. “Since I know your name and have seen your face.” You can’t bear to look at him as you spit out your words, heart heavy, and you hate how you  _ yearn  _ for his touch again, chasing the intimate feeling you had felt at your last meal. In the back of your head you know that knowing another Mandalore’s name wasn’t against the code, but you know that his name is a sacred part of him. So much so that he didn’t tell you, nor did you think he had the intention to ever. Knowing it was probably just as bad as seeing his face. You instead focus on the ground underneath your feet. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and it isn’t the same kind of anxiety as when you sit back to back with him. You know that your reasoning has no real basis. A Mandalore isn’t supposed to reveal their face at any point  _ after  _ they had sworn the Creed. The years before didn’t matter. 

“No,” Mando says, sudden and with surprise. He shakes his head vehemently. “I’m not-- We haven’t--”

“Why not?” you demand, and your blood is boiling. “Everything you stand for, following the Ways of the Mandalore, I’ve ruined it. I’m surprised you haven’t killed me yet.” Your voice is weak by the end of your sentence. Maybe that was wishful thinking. How death was preferable to how ruined you feel, how broken your and Mando’s voice sounds, how grief clutches at your heart and how you’re already mourning for something that hasn’t happened yet. 

“I would never,” he immediately says. “Never-- The thought-- You--” He stops talking, heart heavy as a terrible thought crosses his mind. “Do you… do you want to leave?” he asks, and he doesn’t know if he actually wants to hear your answer. The silence nearly kills him right then and there. 

“No,” you finally whisper after a moment. The confession hangs in the air. Then you ask, “Did you know?” You don’t have to explain what you mean. Mando briefly considers lying to you, that no, he didn’t know that he was the boy you were talking about, the boy hiding underground with you, but he knows he’s just trying to tell himself that. 

“Yes,” he admits. “But I didn’t want to believe it, I just, I don’t  _ why _ , but I feel like I’ve known ever since you told me how you became a Mandalorian,” and the words don’t stop spilling out of his mouth. “I guess-- I guess it was too good to be true. That you had known me before I swore the Creed. Before--” _ Before war. Before everything _ . “And you had been saying my name in your sleep--”

“Maker, I said that?” you ask, a poor attempt at deflection, and you force out a choked out laugh that sounds more like you were being strangled. 

“I thought I had known that moment so well,” he continues. “The moment the Mandalores lifted me out of there. I-I don’t… I don’t remember you. At all.”

“Was I really so terrible as a child?” you ask.

“Maybe,” he says wryly, and he hates that you’re so alike, so socially stunted that you’re dancing around the issue and barrelling straight into it at once. You stand there, mere feet away from him, but you’ve never felt so far away, and he sits there on the ground, staring up at you with reverence. 

Then you ask again, “Do you want me to leave?” 

“I want you to  _ stay _ .”

And he says it with such conviction that you can’t help but believe him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after this series is over, I don’t really want to “let it go” and forget about it, so I’m considering making like, a drabble series that detail the times I skimmed over their travels. Like the other bounties and this little adventure that I thought wasn’t very plot-important. Or maybe even some scenes specifically from Mando’s POV. Would you be interested in something like that? I wouldn’t regularly update it, but whenever someone asks or if I feel the inspiration.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings come to light, and you don’t mind how vulnerable you feel this time.

It’s an eternity before either of you move. 

You stand where you are, and Mando makes no move to get up, and you think that this is somehow worse than the emotional stalemate you had before you had told him what had been plaguing your sleep. The uncertainty that weight in the air is suffocating, so much so that you want to rip your own throat out. But you think this will haunt you forever. The image of Mando sitting in the earth, surrounded by the remnants of your past, of _both_ of your pasts, and the words of _I want you to stay_ echoing in your ears; it burns into your memory. It’s a simple request; it takes more work to leave than it is to leave, honestly, but the concept of it... You know that your way of living makes sure you have no attachments. It’s too dangerous and volatile to risk anyone you might care about, but Mando. Mando knows almost exactly what that terrifying thought is like. Mando knows exactly what he’s asking you. 

Your legs finally give out under you, and you’re finally level with the Mandalorian. 

“Am I… Am I the attachment Greef Karga was warning you about?” you ask him. Maker, you hope you don’t sound shallow. Maybe it’s too far of a jump, a reach that klicks wide, just wishful thinking that you want to _mean_ something to this man. Because as much as you want to deny it, he means a whole damn lot to you. The more you think about it, the more you realize _exactly_ how much. It hurts to think about it. Mando laughs hollowly. 

“Yes.” He doesn’t even _think_ about lying to you about it. 

At that confession, you replay all the little interactions you’ve had with him and wonder exactly when you became more than _business partners_. The moon? Canto Bight? The start of your break? Or maybe it was a small, intimate moment that you didn’t spare a second thought about. You swallow, mouth dry. 

“So no secret family?”

“No.”

The birds are singing again, and you didn't realize they had been silent until now. Eventually, you push yourself up off the ground and walk over to Mando. 

“Let’s go,” you command, and hold out a hand for him to take. He looks at the hand, and then up to you, and takes it. You haul him up and tighten your grip on him as he steadies. “We’ve wasted enough time. Karga is probably crying for us to get back.” Mando scoffs. 

“I somehow doubt that. I think we gave him the vacation instead,” he says. You and Mando walk back towards the ship, not sparing a second glance at the ruins behind you, and your hand in Mando’s never slips out. 

As the _Razor Crest_ comes into view, the anxiety that’s been simmering starts to dissipate. You’ve been through a variety of places that you think you could’ve called home, but it feels wrong to even try and slap that label on them as the ramp to the ship lowers and a warm feeling starts to tingle in you, orange light spilling into the forest floor. You feel like you should say something, but you’ve never really been good with your words.

So you pull Mando towards you, slowly and hesitantly, taking his other hand so that he faces you, and clink your helmets together. You stay there for a little bit, savoring how close you are, how _good_ this feels. Affection rears its head and overwhelms you as Mando runs a thumb over the top of your hand. He’s humming softly under his breath. You want more, so you pull back and quickly take off your gloves, and pull on the fingers of his gloves, slowly, waiting for him to stop you, but he doesn’t, and you take his gloves off of him and drop them on the ground. You take his hands again, relishing the feeling of skin, and you trail your fingers up his wrist, and pause. You can feel his pulse hammering and you focus on that, taking deep breaths that aren’t hindered or forced, and eventually, you get your pulse to match with his, the steady beat thudding deep inside of you, enjoying at the birdsong and the breeze flowing around you. 

“Does this mean I can call you by your name now?” you ask him wonderingly. Mando laughs, warm and rich. 

“Only in private,” he answers, almost teasingly. “That doesn’t mean I won’t stop calling you Dog.” But you really don’t want it any other way, a strange feeling you really don’t want to start labeling swelling inside you, calming you and exciting you at the same time. 

“Din Djarin,” you test out, this time without panic and alarm, but soft. He says your name in return, and can’t help the smile that splits his face. 

Both of your heads snap up when a light in the ship bursts and send sparks raining down, attention alert and hands over each other’s blasters, but there’s no other sound. 

You are still alone with Mando. 

But that little moment is shattered, and Mando realizes how dangerous this life is, experience rushing back at him. How you will have to constantly live looking over your shoulder in case someone decides to be bold and retaliate. Working together… You would only draw more attention as time went by. Canto Bight was proof enough, as far away as it seems now. He looks back at you, the helmet that shows no emotion, and thinks about that night again. He’d been worried. How you had slurred his name out, and then collapsed right into his arms, barely coherent as he ran through the streets, not caring about the shouts of alarm as he pushed past the upper class. It had nearly tore him apart as he debated going after the traitors and waiting by your side, but the way you were writhing could’ve been fatal, so he whispered a promise that he would be back and gone after Desdre and Pretre, demanding to know what had happened. With the new information, he hurried back, and it had been a tense couple of hours as he sat by your side as you moaned and cried out every now and then, and his heart rate had spiked up again when you had woken up screaming. This worry, he knows what it is. It’s attachment. Dangerous. 

Greef Karga’s words ring in his ear. 

Mando pulls away to grab the gloves that you had dropped on the ground, and hands yours to you. “We should get going,” he says quietly, and he tilts your chin up with a single finger before slipping his gloves back on. He doesn’t want to go back. And that revelation scares him. If you asked him, just asked him, he would drop this life of hunting for you and your newfound relationship. 

But you won’t ask him to do that, never in a million years; you’re too much alike and know what this life of a bounty hunter means to you and him, and so Mando has a decision to make. Good thing he has the flight to Nevarro to think about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you may be thinking, “oh no! more conflict! and there’s only two more chapters!” but worry not, it will resolve one way or another. I know this chapter was a little short, but the next ones will be longer. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Mando considers his options, he reflects on his interactions he’s had with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Mando’s POV! I know I haven’t been the most strict when it comes to staying true to 2nd POV bc there are just so many insights to Mando that I think would definitely clear up the story.

The Mandalorian is faced with a dilemma. 

Mando is silent the trip back to Nevarro as he weighs his options in his head. You work well with him, this much is true. Together, you’re a force to be reckoned with, and he saw how easy it was for them to convince bounties to come without a fight as soon as they had spotted two Mandalorians. It saved him time and effort and resources, and he’s had more energy to deal with whatever came his way. You’re reliable, independant, and extremely skilled. Sure, you had been crippled with bad dreams, but that was when you didn’t trust him fully yet, not willing to open up. 

He admits, he hadn’t trusted you either at first. You had bumped into him at the cantina where you both had been scouting for the bounty, and you had immediately realized who he was. After a silent standoff, you had walked up to him and put a datapad on the table for him to read, offering a 40-50 split of profit with him getting the bigger half if he let you come with him to turn in the bounty to Greef Karga. He was reluctant. He worked alone. He worked best alone. But you were another Mandalorian, one he didn’t know, at that, and he had agreed. Mostly out of curiosity. Partially to keep an eye on you. After all, it was a high bounty and an elusive one. Having someone to work with would be beneficial. Your armor was obviously compromised, old and outdated tech and what little beskar you had was scratched to all hell. Alone, then, he guessed, but doesn’t push it. 

Especially when you don’t talk at all for the two days he hops planets, searching for any tidbits of information of the last known location. He doesn’t mind the silence. It was a better alternative than a cocky know-it-all hunter. You were stoic, certainly, almost as quiet as he was, if not quieter. It was a little frustrating when people kept calling you both Mandalorian, though. He had asked, at some point while up in hyperspace, what your name was, but you had just given him a shrug and stared out the window. Mando couldn’t blame you; he hadn’t given his own name anyways. 

But those two days you followed after him, hot on his heels like a pup, and he was starting to wonder if he would regret working with someone that didn’t talk. Mando won’t lie- he liked how people were quick to give him answers when you were looming behind him. But the downside was that you drew a lot of attention. No matter how quiet you two were, word got around faster than he could. However, Mando agreed on the terms, and couldn’t just tell you to leave. He didn’t know if you even had a ship. So he grit and bore it, leading you to a cantina to eavesdrop on the conversation and just have a small moment of reprieve when that Bimm walked up to you like he owned the place. 

Based on his clothes, it might have not been that far off from the truth. 

He hoped that the Bimm would leave, intimidated by a notorious bounty hunter and the silent Mandalorian, but instead he kept pressing, and exhausted from chasing after ghost trails, Mando had snapped and left. He noticed that you weren’t following after him, and turned back around to see what the holdup was, and saw that you were trapped in the booth. And it wasn’t like you could ask him to get up so that you can leave. He could practically see the waves of annoyance radiating off you. It was a wonder how the Bimm didn’t notice how close you were to snapping. And then he had called you a _dog_. Before he could comprehend what had happened, you were up in a flash, a flurry of dented beskar and torn up fabric as you had slammed him against the table. 

Mando doesn’t want to call it love at first sight because it was _anything_ but that, and certainly not _love_ , but he was certainly enraptured from how quickly and efficiently you had snapped. A contrast from how calm and level-headed you had seemed. 

So a temper. He kept that information stored away for some other time. 

Mando eventually realizes the eyes on you, and tells you to get off him, and in a spur of the moment decision, he whistles and calls you _Dog_ , too, beckoning you back to his side. You dutifully get off him, and walk by his heel again to the _Razor Crest,_ but Mando thinks that whatever fragile and unknown business relationship he had with you is ruined by his teasing, but then you show him your spoils, the trinkets you had _fetched_ for him off that nosy bastard, and _woof_ like your little nickname implied. Mando has imagined that if you had ever decided to speak, what it would be, what your voice would sound like, if you could even talk, but never would he have thought that your first words would be a little bark. 

So no, it’s not love, but he thinks that’s where a little tendril of affection had started to sprout. 

It only grows when you get tackled off the edge of the cave on that rocky little moon with thin atmosphere, going cold when he hears a sickening _crunch_ of a body falling very hard, very fast, but there you are, clinging to a little ledge when he dares to peer over the edge. You’re fine. You’re hurt, but fine. 

And then you aren’t.

Your first actual words are, in short, terrifying. 

He then realizes your refusal to speak is more stubbornness than the inability to, and he’s in a haze when he scrambles to make sure you don’t die. Mando has just hit a milestone, and it would be tragic to lose all that progress. But he still doesn’t know you well enough, and as he scrambles around for bacta, cringing when he doesn’t find any, he experiences that flash of hot anger from you again.

Well, you had a point. 

He didn’t care about the scars, so he had no reason to think that you would be as haughty as to turn your nose up at a few of your own. But there’s so much blood and his hands are shaky because he’s never done this to another person, but he knows just enough bedside manner to try and keep the pain from getting to you. The numbspray only works so much, so he rambles whatever half-formed thought comes to head. How he was surprised you could actually speak coherent sentences, how they would go straight to Greef Karga and demand the full payment despite the dead Gran slumped in the corner in reparations, how he knows that Canto Bight is nice this time of year (even though it’s nice year-round), how it would take forever to scrub blood and brain matter from every little crevice of his ship- if it came to mind, he said it. He’s not even sure you’re really listening at that point, unable to see if your eyes are closed, but he’s keeping a close watch on your breathing. 

You’re not dead, thankfully, and he offers you water before turning to leave. Mando thinks that maybe at this point, you would get tired of him before he got tired of you. But you’ve still got more tricks up your sleeve when you tell him your name as some form of thanks. Awkward as ever, he doesn’t know how to respond, so he decides to tease you again, one of the only dynamics he knows for sure, and leaves it at that. 

But Maker, he thinks he _could_ fall in love with you when you continue showing him little acts of trust, asking about his hobbies or interests, and then indirectly prodding about his past. As much as he wishes that you had known each other before he’d become hardened with time, it’s too much of a stretch. Then you tell him of the attack on your village, and suddenly it isn’t so impossible anymore. 

He decides to categorize it as _plausible_.

Then, the first time you don’t follow after him, it results in him wanting to tear his hair out as you’re gone for far too long. He, of course, immediately jumps to the worst conclusions because in your line of work the worst decision is the most possible decision. He tries to keep a level head, but he can’t help but worry at not knowing what had happened to you. But you’re just standing there like he didn’t just spend the last ten minutes in a blind panic in front of the vendor. She asks you if he was your husband, and for a moment what it would be like, if you would let him take off your helmet because Maker knows he’d let you take off his, but you voice cutting through and correcting her reminds him. 

_Business partners,_ Mando had told everyone who had asked who you were to each other. It’s foolish of him to think that you would want anything else. He barely hears what the woman is saying to you, roaring in his ears drowning everything out, but recognizes that you recoil away, and he takes that as his cue to take you back to the ship where he briefly considers putting you on an actual leash. He’s curt, stingingly so, and in the back of his mind he hates this, but his pride is too great. He doesn’t expect you to _leave_ , however, and as he’s weighing that Mythosaur amulet in his hands, he puts it over his head and around his neck and follows you down only to meet that nasty temper again. But you look ethereal, he thinks, as he looks up at you, the warm lights of the _Razor Crest_ making you look powerful. He pulls you down and says your name before he can think twice. That little moment you share almost convinces him to tell you right then and there, but instead he reconciles, and keeps to himself that he knew the amulet was for marriages. 

And that _plausible_ turns to _could be very fucking likely_ when you say his name in your sleep. But that’s a conversation that Mando needs to go over in his head as he imagines a million different scenarios, and he really doesn’t want to do that, so he buries it in the darkest corner of his mind like dirty laundry. 

It haunts him, though, as you’re quieter than usual, and that was saying something. That little womp rat, Brod or Brad or whatever his name is trying to push your buttons and make you react only further chops away at the foundations that’s been laid out in your relationship. And that little tendril of affection that he’s been neglecting demands his attention when Greef Karga interrogates and says something that upsets you. Neither of you are good at words, and Mando ends up stewing in guilt as the window of opportunity to talk to you closes. 

That affection that’s been neglected snarls into jealousy when he watches Pretre eye you up like his next meal, but he knows that he has a job to do, and that you were relying on him to keep his head straight. It makes sense because his next coherent thought is that maybe you needed anger management courses when you draw your blaster on his damn informant. You end being right, as always, as Desdre sells you both out. The fight is nasty. He trusts you to handle it by yourself, but you get taken down somehow, and he’s confused as to why your trying to get away from thin air. No matter, you were relying on him to be level-headed, so he gets you your blaster and runs through the streets of Canto Bight, and he’s foolish because he hasn’t listened to you calling for him, even though he was the one scolding you for keeping your injuries to yourself your very first bounty. When you collapse, he really thinks you might be dead and that he’s going to have to carry the ghost of you around, but you’re mumbling incoherent thoughts to yourself and clawing at your throat and trying to worm out of his grip. 

Well, he doesn’t want to relive that for a third time, so he pushes that awful memory away. 

But you lost something during your drug trip as you’re nodding off and gasping in fear of something and finally he snaps and demands you talk to him. Well, not demands. But he convinces you to tell him, and you do. You’re obviously frustrated with yourself, and your reaction is to try and get away, but he grabs you. 

A little confession rests on the tip of his tongue. 

But he’s a coward, and instead empathizes with you, and confesses his fears instead. Holding your hand is nice and grounding and he’s supposed to be helping you, but instead your tight grip helps _him_. 

As much as he wants to say that his little heart-to-heart is what gets you in a peppy mood again, that doubt creeps in and tells him that it was just the rest you had gotten while he tries to fly the ship as smoothly and quietly as possible. It doesn’t mean he can’t reap the rewards, and drinks in your voice and your stupid questions and complaints like he hasn’t had a proper drink in years. 

A drink is probably needed when you rushes through the flames to find you, only to realize when he spots you that the little sprout of affection hasn’t really been _neglected_ because it’s burning through him as fast as the huts around you are. He tries to tame it as you go about collecting bounties, only for it pop back up full force when Greef Karga calls you Mando’s. He decides to nurture it, and doesn’t take any pucks. He’s too caught up in his head and plans to realize he’d never told you what he was intending, and he’s painfully awkward when he explains why you shouldn’t leave. But you’re forgiving, just for him, and he decides to take another chance and take you down to meet the rest of his covert. Maybe you shouldn’t be so forgiving because the air is so tense he could cut it with a vibroblade. The Armorer, ever the savior, steps in before things get too unsavory, and steal you away to have a private chat, and Mando is stuck trying to explain you to the covert, but he’s trying to make sense of the fact you didn’t have one of your own. It makes sense. Why you were struggling so much. Why your beskar was scratched to all hell. Your wariness in the beginning and your defensive temper. But eventually he gets the message across that you were to be trusted, and they leave him alone. Mando goes to follow you into the armory, but stops when he hears you talking. 

He doesn’t tell you that he was listening when you had told the Armorer your story. 

His heart aches for you. He’s known loss. You know better than anyone because your story is eerily similar to his, and that little thought that he had tucked away in the corner of his mind demands his attention. But he hears movement inside, your voice pausing, and he enters and sits besides you. Your vambraces are in the hands of the Armorer, and he’s taken aback by how enraptured you are with the scene. Sitting side by side, so close but never close enough, Mando imagines that this is the life you’ve always had. A covert to rely on, a safe place to stay and lay low, and maybe, a clan of two. The Mandalorian and his Hound. 

And whatever effort he’s been making to try not to really, truly fall in love with are ruined because he tumbles head first when he hears your unfiltered voice for the first time. As he eats, he wonders why he even had any apprehension about you and the doubts and cracks in his trust disappear with every meal you share. 

But after this revelation, after he has been flying for what seems like hours playing through the last weeks of his life, knowing it’s the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time, he knows. He knows as he looks over at you, clearly asleep in the co-pilot’s chair, your chair, vulnerable and at long last, no longer plagued with bad dreams. 

There’s only been one clear choice in all this. No matter how heartbreaking it is. 

After all, he had called it a **business partnership.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he comes to a final conclusion, it’s followed with regret, and he hurries to fix his mistakes. But at some point, he realizes he may never get the chance to. You come to realize that your dreams become increasingly more likely to come to fruition, but you have the power to change the course of how things go, even if that means losing everything you’ve been working for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end. 

You’re awoken by a rough landing. 

You wake up and stifle a yawn as you look out the windows and see that you’ve finally arrived back on Nevarro. You thought that you would be sad or upset that your time with Mando had come to a stop when you land, but instead you feel wonderfully content. Guess that was a break you sorely needed. Stretching you spare a glance at Mando, but he…

He refuses to look at you. 

He doesn’t look at you when you call his name, not when you kick his chair, and certainly not when you call his _real_ name. Mando focuses on powering down the ship, and leaves promptly without another word. You sit there, dumbfounded, until you gather your senses and go after him. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, but he still doesn't look at you. Instead, he turns away, and gathers his equipment silently. “Mando,” you call impatiently. Immediately, you start to think that maybe you did something wrong, that when you had held his hand and told him your heart you had unknowingly crossed a line. But you know that’s not the case. You knew because you had felt his heart pulsing a fast, nervous pace, the same as yours, and he had kissed you. As much as two Mandalorians could, but he’s no idiot and knows what a keldabe kiss is. You grab his hand and pull him so that he faces you. He still looks down. “Look at me,” you command, and you think he still won’t, but he slowly raises his head up. “What’s wrong?” Your voice is soft and nearly breaks with worry. “Did… did I do something?” you ask. 

“No.” His voice is flat, and your anger rises. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Mando yanks his hand away and huffs. 

“I’m… attached,” he says. 

“And? I feel like we’ve already went over this,” you answer. “Back at--” your voice hitches, “--back at the village.”

“I can’t afford attachments,” he says, and his voice his still frustratingly emotionless. You bristle. 

“That’s not what it felt like,” you say, voice rising. “That’s not what _I_ felt like!” You grab his hands again, grip staying strong even as he tries to wrench his hand away. “Mando, you said that-- You’re always pushing me to tell you what I’m thinking about, and you know I’m not much for talking, so you can’t just keep your mouth shut when I ask you!” Hot tears start forming at the corner of your eyes. He’s never treated you so coldly before. “Tell me what’s wrong. I thought that-- ” 

“It was a mistake,” he spits out, and you’re glad Din Djarin can’t see your face _shatter_. He takes that moment to rip his hands away.

“What?” you croak out. The fight’s left you. 

“It. Was. A. Mistake,” he growls out. “I should never had told you anything.”

“But you did,” you say, and your voice is barely above a whisper. 

“And that was a fault on my part,” he responds venomously. Mando turns away. 

“So that’s it?” you choke out, voice thick with emotion. “You ask me to stay with you, and now you want me to go?” You want him so badly to turn back around and tell you no, he doesn’t want you to leave, or that he’s being forced to say this, but you know there’s no force of any kind controlling him. 

“I’ll drop you off wherever you want,” he says instead. This isn’t the way he wanted this to go. He didn’t want to yell at you or treat you harshly, but it’s spiraled out of control, and it’s out of his hands now. It had played out in his head exactly the way he wanted it to- you understanding that this life was no place for having attachments, and you would go on your merry way and hope you don’t cross paths again. But he just didn’t account for the fact that you were attached, too. He knows that you are, but he thinks that if he could hate you, it would be easier. But he can’t. He can’t hate you no matter how much he tries, and the emotion clouding your voice makes his heart hurt. 

“No,” you say, not as firmly as you would’ve like and your voice wavers. “You don’t get to do that to me and leave.” _Not after what you know now_ , you think. 

“Dog,” he sighs. 

“Don’t call me that,” you snap at him. “You need to tell me what’s wrong before you make any more decisions.” 

“If you don’t tell me where you want to be dropped off, I’ll leave you here,” he threatens, but it’s an empty threat and you know it, too. He goes to move to the ramp, but freezes when he hears your electrostaff crackle. “You wouldn’t,” he says lowly. “You don’t have the courage.”

“Says the coward who’s walking away,” you snarl at him. 

Mando tenses and clenches fist, and spins around. He’s tired of this. You’re both too stubborn for your own good. Mando’s reasoning is trying to make this easier for both of you, and maybe making you hate him is the only way, but his anger rises at you pushing and pulling at him, and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. 

“Be a good dog for once,” he hisses, “and listen to what I tell you.” 

Mando regrets them immediately. 

He thinks for a moment that you’ve died on your feet or turned into a statue, and swears you’re not even breathing, but eventually you swing your staff at him before he can react, electricity crackling up his leg, and he collapses. Before he can get up and retaliate, you’re digging the end into his chestplate of beskar, and he feels his jaw clench involuntarily, body seizing, and he blacks out. 

\--

You stare at his unmoving body, at his chest rising and falling slowly, and suddenly the ship you’ve called home for so long is suffocating you. 

You turn to leave, slipping out of the ship before the ramp even descends all the way down, barely registering the shock that travels up your legs when jump out. You’re numb as you make your way to the cantina. People move out of your way quickly, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to make sure they get out of your path. You don’t pay them any mind; you’re preoccupied as you replay his last words to you.

He’s never used your nickname in such a… _nasty_ manner before. 

When you enter the cantina, all talk immediately quiets, but you go to the back and slip into an empty booth without saying a word. Your glad that Greef Karga isn’t there. You know he’d have questions that you won’t have answers to. Or don’t want to. Same difference. You bounce your leg up and down anxiously, tapping the top of the table in a senseless rhythm as you stare off into space. You would have to go back to the _Razor Crest_ at some point to take all you stuff and your credits. It’s probably not above Mando to leave without dropping it off or letting you take it, especially since you shocked him. After that, it was the matter of finding a ship to take you back to the Yavin System to get back to your own little Guild bubble. You didn’t have a lot of credits left, having used most of it in your travels, so you would most likely have to work in exchange. 

You realize you’ve stopped staring into space and at someone instead when a pair of hands slam into the table. Unflinching, you look up to see a red-faced human, reeking of booze, glowering at you. “What are you lookin’ at?” he slurs. “Hm? Mandalorian, coming in and _taking our_ jobs!” he shouts, and slams his hands on the table again. He wags a finger in your face. “I know who you are! Little Doggie, right?” he guesses, and he giggles as he leans back and runs a hand over his face. “Where’s your master? Ya fucking pup,” he scowls, and spits on your helmet. Your patience has run thin, and at that, you get up. 

You’re not above bar brawls, but you have enough sense to take it outside. 

You drag him out by his collar and push him into the nearby alley, snarling under your helmet. You throw a swift hook to his left, channeling all your pent up frustrations into it, knocking him off his feet and making him stumble into a dumpster. He’s massaging his jaw and scowling, but dives towards you again, high off liquid courage. Before he can grab you, however, you pull your knee up and dig it into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He looks mildly sick, and for a second you think he might actually puke, so you step back so he doesn’t throw up all over your boots, but back up into something. Or someone. You immediately duck, and good thing too, because a blade slices through where your head would’ve been. You hook your leg behind you and catch the legs of your unknown assailant, and they go down hard. When you glance towards the opening of the alleyway, you swear. 

Two more goons were running in.

At this point, the bar brawl has escalated to a fight for your life, so you pull out your electrostaff and shock the first thug and knock him back down. His limbs twitch, but he lives, and jab it behind you and catch the surprise attacker in the chest, and he goes down, too. A blaster shot catches you in the shoulder, knocking you off balance, but you get your feet back under you just in time to dodge another blaster. You toss your staff to your non-dominant hand to pull out your own blaster, firing a few shots as you back up. You managed to kill one, but when he goes down, you see three more coming up behind him. There’s no way that one guy you had picked a fight with would have such loyal friends that would come after a Mandalorian. Much less, as Greef Karga would say, one of your repute. 

This was planned. This was an ambush, and unlike last time, you don’t have Mando with you. 

You fire more shots, but eventually you’re forced to take cover behind the dumpster, peeking your head out every now and then to fire a few shots. It’s too cramped and too short range to pull out your rifle, so you sling your staff back on and use your flamethrower and shoot into the flames at the same time. It disorients them and breaks whatever semblance of a formation they had as they scramble away, and a few of the catch on fire, but it’s not enough. A few more flood in. 

Well, there was never a better chance than now to try out your new gear. 

You put your blaster away and roll out of your cover, getting up and crossing your arms in front of you in an ‘x’, tapping your vambraces together twice. A pulse of pure energy emits from it, and it knocks back the dumpster and all the thugs that had the misfortune of following you in here. However, you didn’t expect how powerful it would be, and without the foresight to brace yourself, you get knocked off your feet, too. The HUD in your helmet is static for a few seconds before it clears up. You force yourself up, groaning from the impact, and think surely that must be all of them; if not, whatever chaos that had just happened here would’ve scared them away. You grab your staff to shock them all, make sure they’re not conscious so you can get the hell out of here and back to the ship--

Oh wait. Kriff. 

You remember why you were in this mess in the first place and you flush with anger. 

You hit the thugs just a little too hard, more force than necessary and holding it a little longer than needed as you watch their half-conscious bodies jerk around before passing out. Stupid fucking Mando and his confusing ways and that coward who’s too afraid of… something, you’re sure, but he doesn’t fucking _talk_ to you, so you have no idea why he’s changed his mind. At what point had the roles reversed that _you_ were the one pressing for him to talk to you?

Just as you go to shock the last guy, he sits up and kicks your right knee in, a sickening crunch going through you. You grunt in and pain and go down, your staff clattering away as he gets on top of you, wraps his hands around your neck, and _squeezes_. Your hands immediately go up to claw at his hands, trying to buck him off, but he’s got you pinned down good, and black starts creeping up the edges of your vision. Your staff is too far away to reach and the blaster by your hip is blocked by his legs, and you don’t even try to think if it’s possible to grab the rifle that’s digging into your back. As you stare up at him, gasping for breath, you recognize him. 

“Mando,” he growls, lips twisted into a smile. 

_Carluis_. The gang member you had brought in for a bounty. 

You bring your vambrace up to try and blow the flamethrower or a medshot or something at him, but he sees it coming from a mile away, and he lifts you up off the ground and slams you back into the ground, grip unrelenting as stars dance in your vision. He’s still crushing your neck, and eventually, you just--

Black out. 

\--

When Mando wakes up, it’s with a jerk, and his legs are aching, his muscles twitching every once in a while. He’s immediately filled with regret. 

But judging by how much time has passed, it’s been a good hour or so, and there’s probably no way he could remedy this, as much as he wants to. His legs are weak, but he manages to crawl up the ladder mostly using his arms to haul his body up. He has never once wondered what it would be like to be at the receiving end of your weapon, and now he had the answer to a question he never asked. Mando practically drags himself into the cockpit, falling into the seat as he flips switches and presses buttons, turning on the ship and activating the engines as he pushing the lever forward, but as he leans forward to do so, something falls out of his pocket. He hesitates, looks down, and sees the damn marriage amulet he’s been carrying around ever since you threw it away. He watches it, gently vibrating on the ship floor as the engines rumble. 

Mando doesn’t really want to call is simpler times because things were complicated back then, too, just in a different way. Trust hadn’t yet formed, and you were still unwilling as ever to talk to him. But the moments before he had left, when he had lied to your face and said that telling you how he felt was a mistake… You were insisting he tell you what was really the issue. Saying that he pushed you to talk, and now you were returning the favor with good intentions in mind. 

_You’re a fool, Din Djarin_ , he hears you say. _What would you do without me?_ And your voice is just as sweet as he remembers when he was sitting back to back with you, floating through space, touching hands and blushing like school children. 

Then he pulls the lever back, turns off the engines and powers down the ship, unflipping all the switches and pushing the buttons again as he trips down the ladder. 

There’s only two places that you could honestly go to in this small town. The covert or the cantina. But seeing as the last time you were at the covert, you weren’t exactly received with open arms, it only leaves one real option because he can’t imagine you going back there willingly without him. It takes a little bit to try and remember how his legs work, but eventually he gets a steady pace going, pins and needles going up and down his limbs. As he walks down the street, he notices that there are droids trying to push a dumpster back into the alley, and it looks like a storm and blown through. He shakes his head, knowing that it was probably your doing, and barges into the cantina. He notes that Greef Karga is noticeably missing. 

Usually when he walks in, the cantina quiets. But the cantina is already eerily quiet when he walks in., all nervous energy and flitting eyes. The crowd parts easily for him as he walks to the bar, and the bartender looks petrified. 

“M-Mando,” he stammers. 

“Where is she?” Mando asks. He doesn’t have to elaborate any further. The bartender flinches, and opens and closes his mouth like a fish a few times.

“Th-They asked me to, to leave you a message,” he says. Mando tilts his head to indicate that he should continue. “They said, um, they said, well, uh--” Mando slams his hand on the counter impatiently. “They said, ‘Your life for your little pet’,” the bartender yelps out. He then ducks behind the bar, as if Mando couldn’t see his ass sticking out, and his blood runs cold. 

“Who?” he asks. The bartender stays hidden. “I won’t ask again.” 

“The Drellis Syndicate, they said you knew where to find them, please don’t hurt me--” Mando tunes out the whimpering of the bartender and immediately leaves, ignoring how the talking suddenly swells behind him as soon as he leaves. 

The Drellis Syndicate. That was the gang your bounty had been on. The crazy spice runner turned dictator, and to a certain point, Desdre and Pretre and whoever else was slumming in that room. The Hutts have been trying to run them out of business ever since Jabba had died, and as crime organizations turned on crime organizations, it had been a mess. It created tons of jobs for the Bounty Hunters Guild, but now it looks like they hadn’t taken too well on you taking down several of their members. He had dealt with them before, and they knew to get off his back, but you were fair game. 

Mando knows where you are. Past the lava fields, there was an underground fortress in the cooled down cracks of magma where they hide. Too small in numbers for the guild to really care about, but now you guess they’re desperate for anything.

He snags a speeder from a mechanic’s shop, tossing a few credits to the damn pit droids that were chittering around him, and heads off to find you. This is the second time you’ve been separated from him, and his mind goes through all the bad scenarios. 

A) You were already dead, having tried fighting your way out, and he was going there just to collect your dead body and get rid of the Drellis Syndicate once and for all. 

B) You weren’t dead, but your helmet having been taken off, you can never truly be a Mandalorian again, and knowing you, you would leave him for good and do something… bad.

C) You weren’t dead, but the Syndicate was waiting until Mando arrived to kill you, in which then he would surely be going on a suicide mission as he goes on a rampage. 

Mando knows that this time there won’t be an elderly vendor giving you gifts and asking if he was your husband or boyfriend or whatever in the best case scenario. That was certainly an impossible, but not unwelcome, scenario. But Mando was a realist, and as much as he would love to find out that you had killed the entirety of the Drellis Syndicate from the inside out, and he would arrive just in time to see you alive and well, where you would come back with him to the Razor Crest where he could kiss you senseless in the dark, he settles for:

D) He gets there, sets you free, and you both destroy the Syndicate and get out with minor injuries at best. He leaves, and you go your own way, and you never see him ever again. Possibly go live somewhere nice without humidity and heat while Mando thinks about what could’ve been.

It hurts to think about it, but as he goes over the lava fields, heat coming off in waves, he knows you’re miserable and cooking inside your armor, surely complaining, so he revs the engines and speeds up. 

When he gets to the underground fortress at the edge of the lava fields, he realizes it more of a bunker than anything, and there’s only two guards outside. Mando parks some distance away, and uses his amban rifle to look for life signs, but it’s still too hot and it’s frizzing out. He hates having to go in blind, but he shoots the two guards without question and slides down. They seem to be the only defense the Drellis Syndicate has since the door doesn’t even require a keycode, and it’s a wonder they’re still around. 

As he descends the stairs, he keeps a careful ear out for any other gang members, but it’s seems relatively empty. There’s an odd droid or two around, but they’re ancient models, so much so that they don’t even acknowledge him as he walks by. Mando descends staircase after staircase down to the lowest floor, where he guesses they would keep you, and it’s foolish he’s riding on this on a guess, but there’s something pulling him down. So he keeps going and going, and once he gets to the lowest floor, he knows why there were no other people on the upper floors. 

Because they were all down here. 

Half the blasters are trained on you, kneeling on the ground, heavy cuffs on your wrists, and a damn iron collar around your neck, the chain in Carluis’s hand, his other hand holding a war ax. The room is circular and open, with load bearing pillars spaced evenly around the perimeter. You’re bruised and battered, smears of your blood on the dirty floor and he doesn’t quite remember your beskar being that ruined. But despite that, you’re the best damn thing he’s seen all day. You’re breathing no matter how shaky and shallow they are, and your helmet is still on, so immediately two of his previous scenarios are crossed off. But the other issue at hand is that the other half of the blasters are aimed at him, and you were disarmed. A tense moment. 

“You’re late,” you croak out, and he winces with how ruined your voice sounds. “It’s too damn hot here.” By the way all the heads snap to you and the look of surprise on everyone’s faces, this is the first time you’ve spoken. Carluis pulls on your chain, and you would’ve fallen on the floor if it weren’t for the fact you already were. 

“Mando!” Carluis bellows. “I see you got my message.” 

“Yeah, obviously,” Mando snarks back, and starts counting the people in the room in his head. Twelve including the hulking ex-bounty in the middle. They were all armed, obviously, Carluis a little more than the others, but they all seem mangy and underfed, dark bags under their eyes and a clouded look over their faces. They look like they’ve only been living off spice and rations for the past months, but knowing the Syndicate, that probably wasn’t too far off from the truth. “Let her go.”

“Who, your Dog?” Carluis mocks, and yanks so hard on the chain that you make a choking noise and skid backwards. He laughs as he watches you try to get up, only to tug again. “I do not think so! I think you need to pay for what you have done,” he says, and points a blaster at your prone body on the floor. 

“I thought you were just a spice runner,” Mando says, and shifts to move his cape over his blaster. 

“I was,” Carluis answers, “but management changed.” You sluggishly get back on your knees, swaying where you are, and Mando wonders exactly state you’re in. As he surveys you, you look up to meet his eyes. There’s a miniscule nod, one he barely catches if he weren’t looking for some kind of sign, towards him, and you flash your vambraces at him. He doesn’t quite know what you mean, but that doesn’t mean he can’t guess. 

“Yeah? They get _fired_ , or something?” he asks, keeping his gaze on you. A microscopic shake. “Or did they quit? Not surprised. Especially since it looks like everyone here samples whatever _drug_ of the week passes through.” Another shake. What the fuck were you talking about?

“Actually we just do spice,” a meek voice pipes up, but is immediately shushed by his surrounding members. 

“That’s repulsive,” you hiss, shaking your cuffs around, and Mando is once again reminded how much of an idiot he is. Your damn repulsors. But you need both your hands to do it. 

“Enough!” Carluis bellows. “Mando, I have a deal.” 

“Not interested, but I feel like you’re going to tell me anyways,” Mando says dryly. 

“We kill you, and we let your hound go,” Carluis seethes, rattling your chain. 

“Is this going to be a regular thing?” you complain. “For the last time, I don’t belong to him! It’s stupid nickname.” Your voice is uncharacteristically whiny. “Where did you even hear that?” Carluis blinks at the change in your demeanor. “This is a legitimate question.” 

“Um, well--”

“Was it Greef Karga? Damn, that man never shuts up,” you continue, and wave your hands a little so that Mando sees. A small wave of agreements go through the crows at your statement. You shift, ever so slightly, and count down on your fingers from three. 

Much like that night on Canto Bight, the room descends into chaos. You whirl around and pull the chain out of Carluis’s hand, and he moved to grab it, but Mando is shooting at him, forcing him to pull his own blaster. Now that you have more range of motion, you stumble onto your feet as use the thick chain to whip the thug that has your electrostaff; your knee is screaming and nearly gives out. He goes down hard, and you take this time to grab the staff from his hands. You quickly spin it, the tip crackling with purple electricity, and take him out for the rest of the fight. Mando grabs everyone’s attention, dodging behind pillars as he gives you a nod. Now the hard part. 

You fumble with it, electricity still crackling, as you try to prop it against the wall, and you grit your teeth. You shove your cuffs against the tip and pull it away just as fast, and you think you taste blood in your mouth as your jaw clenches, but it worked. The cuffs are fried, and it opens and clatters to the ground, sparking every once in a while. You snatch the staff back and turn around, stabbing it in the direction of an advancing thug, and pulling out your blaster with the other hand, shooting another. It’s awkward having to lug around a thick iron collar and chain, but it’s a traditional lock and key mechanism, so you have no time to try and pry it off. 

But you make do.

When you spin around, you make sure that you do so with enough force that it whips around and snags someone as you make your way to Mando. You eventually come to duck behind a pillar next to Mando. “What’s the plan?” you ask him, heaving in breaths. You peek out and catch another thug in the shoulder. 

“We kill them,” Mando grunts, and finishes off the guy you had shot, “we get out.” You wait for him to finish. “Ready?” You scoff. 

“That’s your plan?” you ask him. Mando shrugs. 

“You have a better one?” he retorts. You don’t. “How’s your repulsor looking?” You glance at your HUD. “I know you used it back at the cantina.”

“You saw that?” you ask wryly. “Nearly there. The bastards jostled the wiring when they brought me here. I’ll figure it out. But for now, we need a more concrete plan than not dying.” Blaster shots wiz past your head. “Why’d you come back for me?”

“I’m thinking after this,” Mando says instead, pointedly ignoring your question, “we go give Greef Karga a piece of our mind, and go back to the covert.” You stare at him incredulously, and shoot your flamethrower at the feet of a thug, who scrambles away, yelping. 

“I thought you wanted me to leave?” you say to him. You will not let him change the subject. “That you made a _mistake_.” You can’t help the hurt that bleeds into your tone. Mando shoots Carluis, but the blast reflects off his pauldron and leaves a black mark. He turns back to you. 

“Remember when you said that I didn’t think things through?”

“Yeah?”

“This is one of those times.” You scoff and open your mouth to spit something nasty at him, but Carluis screams something incoherent. 

“We will talk about this later,” you say sharply. “I have a plan,” you start quickly, “My repulsors are almost up to full charge, but I need to reroute the power supply to my vambraces to speed it up. You need to get the rest of them together and distract them long enough that I can use it.” Mando nods his head, but you shoot out a hand to grip his arm. “This thing packs a punch. You _need_ to be out of the way,” you explain to him. He seems hesitant. “I promise you, we will get out of this,” you swear, sliding your grip down his arm to hold his hand, where you both desperately wish you could feel each other’s skin instead of gloves. 

“Okay,” Mando says. A pause. 

“Good hunting,” you say to him with a grin. 

“Good hunting,” he repeats, and dashes to the next adjacent pillar as he disintegrates one with his amban rifle. Seven remaining. Six, now that you take this moment of distraction to shoot one of the thugs through the head. You duck back behind the pillar as you fumble with your equipment. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” you hiss, but swear when error signs light up your HUD. You’re trying your best to reroute the power that underlies your beskar armor, but the Syndicate has pretty much crippled you. To a literal extent as well. Your knee is throbbing, and you’re pretty sure it’s broken. Without the pillar you were leaning on, you probably would’ve been on the floor by now. You press a few buttons on your vambrace and the little number in the bottom left hand corner jumps up. You spare a glance up. Mando still hold strong against them, however, shocking Carluis in the chest to send him sprawling to the floor, and then he turns his attention to the remaining five. He shoots off his flamethrower and tangles the legs of the closest one with his grappling line. Mando draws them closer to him, and then with a swift kick to the head, knocks him out, breaking his nose as blue blood drips down onto the floor. He stumbles forward as a stray blast knocks him in the back, but catches himself and thrusts the sparkling prongs at him. That little distraction is all Carluis needs because he sneaks up behind him, turning him around and headbutting him. The rest of the Syndicate scramble forward to help him. You swear and hit your vambrace out of frustration, but the power finally jumps up to 100%. 

Three of the thugs has Mando pinned, two holding his arms back and the third comically holding his feet down, and you see Carluis grinning, shifting his hold on his war ax as he advances, eyes aiming for Mando’s neck, stepping over the bodies of his subordinates. 

You go cold. This is exactly what you had dreaded all those months ago. Dreams or not, every step that Carluis took towards Mando, the possibility of his death was becoming more and more realistic. 

( _A Mandalorian helmet at your feet--_ )

Your repulsors are useless with Mando right there. 

( _A scared boy hiding underground with you, big brown eyes and scared--_ )

You have to get in front of him. 

( _“I have an attachment.”_ )

You can’t even feel your knee as you run to him. 

( _Sitting back to back, eating your meals, enjoying each other’s voices unhindered--_ )

The ax is swinging high.

( _The feeling of skin on skin and the warm forest breeze--_ )

You won’t let your visions come true. 

( _ **“I want you to stay.”** _)

You will not fail Din Djarin. 

Mando watches as you sprint towards him, no weapon in your hands, with some kind of superhuman speed that he’s never seen from you before, and you dive in front of him and activate your repulsors just as the ax swings down. The wave of energy blows Carluis back, but it also knocks Mando and the three thugs into the wall behind him. 

The vision through his helmet freaks out for a little bit, all static, but it comes back, and Mando groans as he forces himself to get up, getting on his hands and knees. The room is quiet now, save for the cries of pain from the four remaining members of the Drillis Syndicate. They weren’t armored as well as Mando was, and he had the benefit of having three human meat shields cushion his fall. Still, he needs to get up as fast as he can and make sure you’re okay before he kills these bastards once and for all. As his vision clears, there’s a pool of blood underneath him and sees that there’s a spray of blood, still warm, all over him, but… It’s not his. 

When Mando looks up to find you, he finds that he has to look in two different places. 

One at your limp body. 

One at your helmet. 

He stumbles over to your helmet, thinking that surely, your helmet just must’ve been knocked off in the impact. You would hate that. You care about following the Ways of the Mandalore as much as he does. He think you’re not moving because you don’t want to reveal your face. “Dog, your-- Your helmet. We have to get out of here; I didn’t see--” But the helmet is much too heavy in his hands, and he actually drops it in shock when more blood spills out. He’s shaking, watching as your head rolls and comes to a stop next to your body. 

He’s shaking, and the Drellis Syndicate is watching him with bated breath as he finally realizes and lets out the most heartbreaking, guttural _howl_. 

Din Djarin thinks for a moment, he’s passed out or has died, but instead of black he sees red. He’s angry and numb at the same time, barely registering that he’s moving around. When he realizes where he is, he’s staring at the limp body of Carluis, a clean hole through his head where his blaster had shot him. It brings him no satisfaction. He drops the blaster from his hand, and turns and walks over to where you lie. He swallows, and then falls to his knees next to you. With still shaky hands, he takes off his own helmet, and sets it next to him as hot tears burn in his eyes. This was… This was not what he thought his first time being unhelmeted in front of you would be like. 

The blood spurting out of your neck has slowed to a crawl. He reaches over, slowly, and picks up your helmet--

( _He refuses to call it a head._ )

\-- and brings to his own, bumping his forehead against yours. 

He doesn’t know how he sits there, eyes closed, and even as his arms get weak from holding you in his hands, he can’t bring himself to let you go. If he opens his eyes or lets go, then it’s real. It’s real that you’re gone for good, and that he won’t ever get to hear your voice or feel your skin against his ever again. Of the scenarios he’s willed himself to think, he could never have predicted this one. And maybe it’s cruel to himself, but he fantasizes about the most impossible scenario where you’re fine and you’re with him, taking all the bounties and living the best life, even to the point where the only bounties you _don’t_ take are the ones where you have to go to another damn jungle planet to complain about the heat. He imagines an impossible scenario where you can finally see his face and he can see yours, and that makes grief wrap a clawed hand around his heart and dig its talons in. 

But eventually, his strength fails him and exhaustion runs him over. The tears that have been building in his eyes finally spills over when he realizes that burying you is another impossible scenario. He knows that you took the time to bury the remaining members of your group, and he wishes he could bring you the same honor, but he’s too far underground and the lava fields are a woefully inappropriate place to leave you. So he allows himself a single sob before he gets back up on shaky knees. He slides the iron collar around your neck off, easy now that there was no obstacle, ignoring how there are hand-shaped bruises lining your throat, and puts your head where it should be. After a moment of consideration, he takes off his cape, and wraps it around you so that it hides the jagged edges of skin and muscle and bone. He thinks for a moment that he can hear your voice echoing, _You think that’s gonna leave a scar?_ sarcastically in his ear, but he shakes the thought of you out of his head. He doesn’t care about scarring, but he cares about _you_. 

Then pulls the _riduurok_ amulet out, pulling it over his head. Two lovers, so tightly wound each other in a tangling embrace, making it hard to distinguish where one ends and one begins. He takes your limp hand, puts the amulet in it, and wraps your fingers around it before he places your hand on your chest, and still watches to see if your chest will rise and fall. 

He allows one more impossible scenario go through his head where it does, and then he leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue coming after this! So keep an eye out. Feel free to yell at me in my inbox. 


	15. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the Mandalorian comes back to the start, and he hides away his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of hound. Thank you to everyone who has supported me! This was a great way for me to get back into writing, even though it’s a bit ambitious for someone who hasn’t written in a very long time. I recommend listening to '13 Angels Standing Guard 'Round the Side of Your Bed' while reading. There is also an obvious Richard Siken reference in here because I’m basic.

Mando sits in the _Razor Crest_ , and for the first time in a very long time, he’s lost. 

Not physically. Mando knows that he’s sitting in his ship, now feeling much too spacious and much too quiet without your presence, on Nevarro, the cantina where he can pick up his next job less than a mile away. The small town is quiet in the distance. It feels wrong how normal it seems. He’s sitting in the pilot’s seat, staring at your empty one, debating if he should just shoot off into space, go into hyperdrive without the proper calculations, and if that didn’t finish him off, he’d fly until he was out of fuel and drift through space. But he’s got too much self-preservation trained in him, not to mention that he’d be wasting your sacrifice. A cold chill goes through him. 

He realizes your blood is still drying on his armor. 

Mando can’t bring himself to drag his body into the refresher to try and scrub it off. All the energy has been sapped from his body, and he won’t be surprised if he wakes up the next day feeling any strength in him at all. There’s a faint tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers as he stares out the window, unseeingly. He doesn’t quite know what he’s supposed to be doing. Does he grieve? Does he let the world know that you’ve been ripped from your own existence? But every single thought that he tries to latch onto slips from his grasp. As he lets his mind wander, he goes down that rabbit hole of thinking how easily preventable this would’ve been. 

If he had told you his fears. 

If he had begged you to stay.

If he hadn’t been so cruel. 

If he hadn’t been a coward, like you had called him.

Maker, the yearning he feels for you nearly tears his heart out. 

Regret is a familiar feeling, he knows it well, but he’s often pushed it aside for just accepting that what is done is done. There was no point in worrying about the past if he couldn’t fix it. There’s only the issue of moving on. However, Mando finds himself having to force that line of thinking into his head instead of it coming easy to him like before. 

He’s still unfeeling as he finally pries himself off the seat and down the ladder, swinging on his old cape that he couldn’t find in himself to throw away, and goes down ramp, the sun low in the sky as he makes his way to the cantina, blood and viscera all over him still. Before he even realizes it, he’s sliding into the booth where Greef Karga finally makes an appearance. He eyes him in distaste, but Mando can’t bring himself to care. 

“Mando,” Karga says. “Glad to see you’re still alive. I heard what the Drellis Syndicate did. They told me you went after them.”

Silence. 

“Where’s your hound?”

Silence. 

“... I see,” Greef Karga says, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat before pulling out pucks and activating them. Two humans, a Mon Calamari, and a young Mythrol. “Well, we have a bail jumper, another bail jumper, a spice runner, and a loan dodger,” he explains. A pause. “Mando--”

“I’ll take them all,” Mando says quietly, and he realizes how raw his throat feels. Karga looks like he desperately wants to say something, but he looks at the dried blood on the Mandalorians clothes and staining his beskar, and wordlessly slides over the pucks and tracking fobs. 

“Very well,” he says begrudgingly. “Just… Just this once, Mando.” It’s unnerving to see Mando so… Well, he doesn’t quite know what to call this. Greef Karga didn’t know what went down in the underground fortress. 

Mando still doesn’t say anything. “Taking a page out of your Hound’s book now, Mando?” Greef Karga asks, attempting a joke, but he can practically feel the glare from behind the helmet. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat again. “I trust you’ll make quick work of it,” he says, swiftly changing the subject. Mando nods once, and takes that as his cue to leave, getting up and out the door, ignoring the way the people in the cantina point and whisper at him. 

The walk back is just as mind-numbing. 

Mando has to practically drag his feet, feeling like there were a million hands pulling him down and trying to get him to rest, to just close his eyes, but whenever Mando closes his eyes, all he can see is you. He knows he won’t sleep in the next coming days. He wonders if you had felt like this, too, when you were tormented by bad dreams, and thinks that he should’ve been nicer, and there’s that regret creeping up again that he forces down. 

When he sits back down in the pilot’s seat, Mando pulls out the Mythosaur amulet you had given him, and wonders if he had just done something different, you would be here now. But he’s exhausted himself of all fantasies, and all he can do is dwell in the harsh reality. So he tucks the amulet away with the intent of never seeing it again, with the intent on not another reminder about you.

It’s funny, that even though you’re gone and already he’s pushing every thought and memory of you to the darkest corner of his mind where his revelation had previously resided, building those steel walls back up again in his heart, he knows that in your death, you’ve found that one last tender place, unguarded, to sink your teeth in.


End file.
